“What is to be done?” said Lucien.
Basil now became himself again. The hope of saving François restored him to his wonted energy and courage.
“Is it better we should remain here?” asked Lucien, who knew that his brother’s strong judgment would decide upon the best plan.
“No,” replied the latter; “it is of no use. I could not have found my way back, but for the tracks of my horse. François will not think of that; and even if he did, his horse is a mustang, and the prairie is covered with mustang tracks, running in every direction. No, no, he will never come back here, except by chance; and there are a thousand chances to one against it. No, we must go in search of him; we must go upon his trail; and that I fear will be impossible among so many others. Before we leave this place,” continued Basil, “let us try every chance that is left. Are you loaded?”
“Yes,” replied Lucien.
“Fire, then, a moment or two after I do. The first report may call his attention to the second.”
Basil raised his piece and fired into the air. A few seconds after, Lucien fired also, and both stood to listen, their hearts beating audibly.
For five minutes or more they stood—so that François might have time to load his gun, if empty. There was no response.
Again the brothers loaded their rifles—with powder only—putting in heavy charges and ramming home tightly, in order that the explosions might be the louder. Again they fired as before. The result was the same; there was no answer to their signal.
“It proves that he is very distant,” said Lucien, “for sounds can be heard a great way off in this region.”