"Why, Jack, my lad!"
"Yes, that's who it is, and little time to talk. Has she been here?"
"The lass—Rachel? She has that—a sight for sore eyes—and set all things neat and tidy for me in no time;" and he waved his hand toward the clean-swept hearth, and the table with clean dishes, and a basket with a loaf of new bread showing through. "But she did na stay long wi' me. The clouds were comin' up heavy, she said, and she must get home before the snow fell; an' it snows now?"
"Well, rather. Can't you see out?"
"I doubt na I've had a nap since she left;" and the Old man raised himself stiffly from the bunk. "I got none the night, for the sore pain o' my back, but the lass helped me. She's a rare helpful one."
"Which trail did she take?" asked Genesee impatiently.
He saw the old man was not able to help him look for her, and did not want to alarm him; but to stand listening to comments when every minute was deepening the snow, and the darkness—well, it was a test to the man waiting.
"I canna say for sure, but she spoke o' the trail through the Maples being the quickest way home; likely she took it."
Genesee turned to the door with a gesture of despair. He had come that way and seen no sign of her; but the trail wound above gulches where a misstep was fatal, and where a horse and rider could be buried in the depths that day and leave no trace.
At the door he stopped and glanced at Davy MacDougall, and then about the cabin.