“Saddle up an’ we’ll be off right smart, an’ we’ll bring back the missin’ girls. I don’t reckon as thet gang will have more’n a mouthful of success with them two little ladies. They better look out thet they don’t rile thet sweet, smilin’ Grace Harlowe too much or they’ll discover, when it’s too late, thet they barked agin’ the wrong cottonwood. Look for us when we get back.”
“Darling, be careful! Don’t get shot,” begged Nora, giving her husband a good-bye kiss.
Hippy hurried along and joined Mr. Fairweather, and together they saddled and bridled, and then strode down to the creek leading their mounts. Ike took the flash lamp and, soon after reaching the stream, he picked up the trail of the Overton party on their way to the picnic grounds. He found Lieutenant Wingate’s footprints also.
Reaching the point where other trails radiated out from the main canyon, Ike bade his companion hold the horses. Then began a painstaking examination of the ground, along the little mountain stream, a proceeding that excited Lieutenant Wingate’s admiration. After a time Mr. Fairweather’s light disappeared and Hippy was left in the somber canyon to pass the time as best he might.
Ike was gone an hour. He returned without showing a light. Hippy heard him when he was almost upon him, and challenged.
“It’s Ike,” was the brief answer.
“What luck?” questioned Hippy.
“Struck the trail. Stands out like a boulevard in a big city. Found somethin’ else, too.”
“What was it?”
“Found where some woman met one of ours an’ went with her up the canyon. It wa’n’t a regular white girl’s footprint thet the woman made. Reckon it was an Indian or some mountain woman, ’cause she had on moccasins. There was three or four men a little further upstream an’ they had horses. I found this up there. Reco’nize it?” Ike held out something white and turned the ray of the flash lamp on it.