Shadows of the morning were long and heavy, for the sun was just topping the mountains, but Helen, riding close behind the cowboy, glimpsed a footprint in the sand. She reined in her horse and called to Curt, who whirled quickly.
“Someone’s been through here,” she said, pointing to where the sand was fairly hard packed.
“Anyone could have left a print like that,” replied the cowboy star. “Your nerves are getting the best of you, Helen. Steady up.”
She smiled and they turned again toward the desert, riding at a steady pace and scanning the sand intently for anything unusual.
They were less than a quarter of a mile from the old town when Curt pulled his horse up sharp and leaped from the saddle to bend down and scrutinize a tough creeper which had been pulled out of the sand.
“Get down here, Helen. Here’s something the others have missed.”
Helen dismounted and ran to Curt’s side. In his hands he held a tough section of the creeper and his eyes were fastened on a brown stain. “What is it?” demanded Helen.
“Looks like someone got caught in this and scratched,” said Curt, trying to pass the remark off lightly.
“You mean it might have been Janet?”
“It might have been,” agreed the cowboy star. “Look back toward the village. This is in a direct line and although you may not have noticed it, we’ve been following footprints all of the way. Two came out and only one returned.”