His first search lay in the direction of McFardell’s homestead. It was a natural instinct that prompted him. His crude mind indicated that as being the most likely direction. But disappointment awaited him. The place was still deserted. It was precisely as he had left it once before, even to the broken doors which his heavy boots had destroyed. From the homestead his course radiated over the surroundings of hill and forest. He searched with every instinct alert, and with eyes that never in his long years had been keener for such a task. But every hour only added to his disappointment; every moment deepened his despair.
Noon came and passed. He ate and rested his horse. Then he continued as he had planned. His next effort carried him back beyond the farm into the valley of Dan Quinlan. He meant to ride till night, return to the farm to sleep, and, with a fresh horse, set out again on the following morning.
He had scoured the woods along the creek. He had sought every rising ground that could afford him breadth of view. He had searched as never in his life had he thought to search in that amazing wilderness. And more than half the afternoon had spent itself when, utterly dispirited, he turned and crossed the creek at the water-hole. There was nothing left him but to retrace his steps and search the far side of the valley.
At last he reached the opening of the gorge of Three-Way Creek. His old body was weary and his heart was sick. Yet he drew rein at the edge of the water just above its junction with the bigger stream and contemplated the wide-flung entrance to the western gap. It was not that it interested him deeply. He had always known of its existence. But never in all his years on the farm had he attempted to explore it. Now, however, he wondered. Now he gazed at it with a new interest. Yes, nothing must be left to chance. To-morrow——
He turned an ear alertly. Every nerve was on edge, and nothing escaped him, sight nor sound. Now, though probably indistinguishable to ordinary hearing, there came to him, clear, and beyond all question of doubt, the plodding sound of hoofs. He waited well-nigh breathless while he decided the direction in which the hoofs were travelling. And a sigh escaped him. The hoofs were approaching—rapidly.
He lifted his reins and turned his horse heading for the gorge. He urged the wary beast through the bare-trunk aisles of the twilit woods. Just ahead of him there was a wide patch of sunlight, and he made for it. And as he came to the edge of the clearing a rider, mounted on a coal-black horse and leading a familiar pinto pony, broke from the wood directly opposite him.
CHAPTER XXX
Lightning Passes the Barrier
BLANCHE knew better than to make any mystery of the situation when she encountered Lightning. She knew it was a moment when frankness alone was possible. For the old man laid bare his soul to her in the words of his greeting.
“You got her mare,” he had cried, at sight of the pinto, in tones that were unforgettable. “Wher’ is she? I want her, that pore, sick kid.”
Blanche replied without hesitation as she reined up her horse.