"The tracks didn't come out of the swamp," she said.
"Forget the tracks," Glenn said gently. "It's been snowing since ten o'clock. They were Roy's tracks all right. The snow drifted in and covered them up. He probably headed for home hours ago."
"I—can't eat, Glenn. Let's go back. Let's try to find the tracks again. I'm scared, Glenn. I'm so scared my teeth are chattering."
Glenn took her rifle.
"Follow me," he said abruptly. "You're all done in. I'll take the shortest route."
The girl took half a dozen faltering steps and sank down into the snow. When he reached her side, she was out cold. He rubbed her wrists and cheeks until her eyes, full of tears, opened slowly.
"You're gonna be all right," he said, and picked her up in his arms.
Slowly, for he knew it was going to be a rough trail, he headed across the valley toward home.
Earl Robinson moved more slowly now. He and Larson had swung down from the north and crossed the three sets of tracks. Larson, puffing from his first day of marching, came behind him. Robinson stopped finally. He waited for Larson to catch up. He pointed at the almost covered tracks.
"Here's where they missed his trail," he said. "I think we can still follow it if we take our time."