Thus a full half-hour was lost; momentous minutes to their friend Fred Hawksley. Only for that unfortunate stumble, how much that followed might have been spared!
Though considerably bruised, when he returned to consciousness, Campbell found that no bones were broken. Almost his first thought was for his horse. It stood near by, leisurely cropping the grass, in nowise injured by the contretemps.
Ned uttered a little exclamation, as he glanced around him. He counted eight forms besides his own. Then he glanced over the prairie in which direction he had last noted his young friend. It was clear and unobstructed. Hawksley and the strange rider had disappeared.
“You ought to have followed on, boys. I fear that Fred is running into some snare. Do you take the trail now. I remember the point where I last saw them. I’ll ride on ahead. Don’t lose any time, but keep the right track. Fred’s life may depend upon it.”
Before the last words were spoken, he was in the saddle and away. One quick glance around settled his course, and then fixing his eyes steadily upon a point of timber a mile or more ahead, he dashed on like an arrow fresh from the bow.
His companions followed more deliberately, though at a steady gallop. The moonlight was sufficiently strong to enable them to follow the plainly imprinted trail with little difficulty. In a few minutes they lost sight of Ned Campbell, behind a timber island.
Round a point of this the trail led, and dashing along, the eyes of the pursuers widely dilated as they abruptly drew rein. The prairie here stretched out free of timber, almost level for several miles in either direction. And yet not a living object was to be seen upon its surface!
Was this magic? More than one of the hunters felt a thrill of superstitious awe, as they glanced at each other. Where were Hawksley and the strange woman? Where was Ned Campbell?
“Look!” muttered a tall, lank youth, Zebedee Ruel by name, “hyar’s thar trail—three critters goin’ at full split. They’ve passed this a-way. Reckon we’d best follow on—what say?”
The trail was faint and indistinct at this point, for the ground was harder, ringing sharply beneath the iron-shod hoofs. It was the edge of a tract of prairie sometimes found in Texas—more frequently in Kansas and Nebraska; composed of sand, gravel and flinty pebbles, over which a horse may pass without leaving a trail.