The withdrawal of the sheriff merely stimulated Keith to greater activity. It was clearly evident the fugitives were endeavoring with all rapidity possible to get beyond where the hand of law could reach them—their trail striking directly across the plains into the barren southwest was proof of this purpose. Yet it was scarcely likely they would proceed very far in that direction, as such a course would bring them straight into the heart of the Indian country, into greater danger than that from which they fled. Keith felt no doubt that Hawley intended making for Carson City, where he could securely hide the girl, and where he possessed friends to rally to his defence, even an influence over the officers of the law. The one thing which puzzled him most was the man's object in attempting so desperate a venture. Did he know his prisoner was Hope Waite? or did he still suppose he was running off with Christie Maclaire? Could some rumor of Waite's appeal to the courts have reached the gambler, frightened him, and caused him to attempt this desperate effort at escape? and did he bear Miss Maclaire with him, hoping thus to keep her safely concealed until he was better prepared to come out in open fight? If this was the actual state of affairs then it would account for much otherwise hard to explain. The actress would probably not have been missed, or, at least, seriously sought after, until she failed to appear at the theatre the following evening. This delay would give the fugitives a start of twenty hours, or even more, and practically assure their safety. Besides, in the light of Waite's application to the sheriff for assistance, it was comparatively easy to conceive of a valid reason why Hawley should vanish, and desire, likewise, to take Miss Maclaire with him. But there was no apparent occasion for his forcible abduction of Hope. Of course, he might have done so from a suddenly aroused fit of anger at some discovery the girl had made, yet everything pointed rather to a deliberate plan. Both horses and men were certainly waiting there under orders, Hawley's adherents in charge, and every arrangement perfected in advance. Clearly enough, the gambler had planned it all out before he ever went to the Trocadero—no doubt the completion of these final arrangements was what delayed his appearance at the hotel. If this was all true, then it must have been Christie, and not Hope, he purposed bearing away with him, and the latter was merely a victim of her masquerade.
What would result when the man discovered his mistake? Such a discovery could not be delayed long, although the girl was quick-witted, and would surely realize that her personal safety depended upon keeping up the deception to the last possible moment. Yet the discovery must finally occur, and there was no guessing what form Hawley's rage would assume when he found himself baffled, and all his plans for a fortune overturned. Keith fully realized Hope's peril, and his own helplessness to serve her in this emergency was agony. As they hurried back to the town, he briefly reviewed these conclusions with Waite and Fairbain, all alike agreeing there was nothing remaining for them to do except to take up the trail. The fugitives had already gained too great an advantage to be overhauled, but they might be traced to whatever point they were heading for. In spite of the start being so far to the west, Keith was firmly convinced that their destination would prove to be Carson City.
Procuring horses at the corral, their forces augmented by two volunteers—both men of experience—Keith, Waite, Fairbain, and Neb departed without delay, not even pausing to eat but taking the necessary food with them. The sun had barely risen when they took up the trail, Keith, and a man named Bristoe, slightly in advance, their keen eyes marking every slight sign left for guidance across the bare plain. It was a comparatively easy trail to follow, leading directly into the southwest, the pony tracks cutting into the sod as though the reckless riders had bunched together, their horses trotting rapidly. Evidently no attempt had been made at concealment, and this served to convince the pursuers that Hawley still believed his captive to be Miss Maclaire, and that her disappearance would not be suspected until after nightfall. In that case the trail could not be discovered before the following morning, and with such a start, pursuit would be useless. Tireless, steadily, scarcely speaking except upon the business in hand, the pursuers pressed forward at an easy trot, Keith, in spite of intense anxiety, with the remembrance of old cavalry days to guide him, insisting upon sparing the horses as much as possible. This was to be a stern chase and a long one, and it was impossible to tell when they could procure remounts. The constant swerving of the trail westward seemed to shatter his earlier theory, and, brought him greater uneasiness. Finally he spoke of it to the old plainsman beside him.
“What do you suppose those fellows are heading so far west for, Ben? They are taking a big risk of running into hostiles.”
“Oh, I don't know,” returned the other gravely, lifting his eyes to the far-off sky line. “I reckon from the news thet come in last night from Hays, thar ain't no Injuns a rangin' thet way jist now. They're too blame busy out on the Arickaree. Maybe them fellers heerd the same story, an' thet's what makes 'em so bold.”
“What story? I've heard nothing.”
“Why, it's like this, Cap,” drawling out the words, “leastways, thet's how it come inter Sheridan; 'Sandy' Forsythe an' his outfit, mostly plainsmen, started a while ago across Solomon River an' down Beaver Crick, headin' fer Fort Wallace. Over on the Arickaree, the whole damned Injun outfit jumped 'em. From all I heerd, thar must a bin nigh onto three thousan' o' the varmints, droppin' on 'em all at oncet, hell-bent-fer-election, with ol' Roman Nose a leadin' 'em. It was shore a good fight, fer the scouts got onto an island an' stopped the bucks. Two of the fellers got through to Wallace yist'day, an' a courier brought the news in ter Hays. The Injuns had them boys cooped up thar fer eight days before them fellers got out, an' I reckon it'll be two or three days more 'fore the nigger sogers they sent out ter help ever git thar. So thar won't be no Injuns 'long this route we're travellin', fer the whole kit an' caboodle are up thar yit after 'Sandy.'”
“And you suppose Hawley knew about this?”
“Why not, Cap? He was hangin' 'round till after ten o'clock las' night, an' it was all over town by then. 'Tain't likely he's got an outfit 'long with him thet's lost any Injuns. I don't know whar they're bound, no mor'n you do, but I reckon they're reasonably sure they've got a clar road.”
They pulled up on the banks of a small stream to water their horses, and ate hastily. The trail led directly across, and with only the slightest possible delay they forded the shallow water, and mounted the opposite bank. A hundred yards farther on, Bristoe reined up suddenly, pointing down at the trail.