Helen looked at him, her eyes showing her fear.
“Then someone in the company was responsible for Janet’s disappearance!” she gasped.
“Right,” snapped Curt. “The first thing is to find Janet; then we’ll catch up with whoever was responsible.”
“Hadn’t we better tell the others?” asked Helen.
“They’re not used to tracking; I am.” He grinned. “Even if I am a movie cowboy most of the time, I know a few tricks about the range and the desert. Come on!”
They remounted and Curt led the way, scanning the ground closely. Even Helen, as inexperienced as she was, could see the signs now. Someone had left deep prints in the sand.
“He was either an awful big man or he was carrying someone,” said Curt. “One thing, he won’t be able to go far.”
The trail led toward the hills back of the ghost town and it was evident that the man they were trailing had rested frequently. Curt saw another of those brown stains, but he made sure that Helen did not see it for there was no use in increasing her fears.
The trail led on, perhaps half a mile altogether, and ended suddenly in a tiny depression where the sand was smooth and hard.
Curt dismounted and made a minute survey of the bowl. The trail came in all right, but there were no tracks going out. In the center were two marks, about four inches wide and 12 or 14 feet long, but that was all. Beside one of these was a tiny smudge of black and Curt got down on his hands and knees and sniffed keenly.