"How shall we go about it?" I asked, hopelessly, of Dr. Ambrose.
"There is no trail," he replied; "the falling snow covers up his footsteps a half-minute after he makes them; but he must have gone up that slash through the hills there. It is the easiest route from here, and the one a man with no fixed idea in his head would most likely take."
There was a general agreement with the doctor's opinion, and we planned our pursuit at once. Four men would remain at the camp and protect it, and relieve us should we return exhausted and without the fugitive. Miss Hetherill would remain with them. She made some demur, saying she was a good mountaineer and citing proof, but she yielded to the obvious fact that a woman could make but little progress through the deep snow.
"We will be sure to bring him back," I said to her when we started.
"Take care of yourself too," she said.
"For my sake only?" I asked.
"For all our sakes," she replied.
But she blushed a little, despite the anxiety which was foremost in her mind.
We passed up the defile, and then our party spread out like a fan. I was convinced that the colonel could not have gone far. The snow was an added obstacle to the naturally difficult character of the mountains. It was still pouring down, half blinding us, and compelling us to scrutinize every inch of the way lest the loosening drifts should carry us in an avalanche to the bottom of some precipice, which would be highly disagreeable.