Part 48 (1/2)
”No,” he said, ”I'd stake a month's pay that the fellow's not ahead.”
They looked at each other, frankly puzzled; and then Prescott broke out angrily:
”Where can the blasted rustler be?”
”Couldn't have left the bluffs on my side without my seeing him, and if he'd doubled back on his tracks, you'd have met him,” Curtis remarked.
”He's not likely to be hiding in the woods. He'd freeze without a proper outfit, which he can't have got.”
They grappled with the problem in silence for a minute or two.
”We'll take the back trail,” Stanton decided. ”The fellow must have broken out for open country on your side. I guess he knows where there's a homestead where he might find a team.”
Prescott agreed, and they rode off wearily the way he had come, s.h.i.+vering with the cold that had seized them while they waited. The expectant excitement which had animated them for the past hour had gone and was followed by a reaction. Their bodies were half frozen, their minds worked heavily, but both were conscious of a grim resolve. It was the trooper's duty to bear crus.h.i.+ng fatigue and stinging frost, one that was sternly demanded of him; and the rancher had a stronger motive. He must clear himself for Muriel's sake, and he was filled with rage against the man who had tried to betray him. He would go on, if necessary, until his hands and feet froze or the big Clydesdale fell.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE END OF THE PURSUIT
When they had ridden some distance through the wood, Stanton checked his horse.
”Hold on!” he cried. ”Here's a bit of an opening in the brus.h.!.+”
He moved away a few yards, and then called out:
”Looks mighty like a trail. I guess you didn't notice it when you came along.”
Prescott admitted that he had not done so, which was not surprising.
There was little to distinguish the gap between the nut bushes from others that opened up all round; but Stanton seemed satisfied that he was right.
”Somebody has driven out this way not long ago,” he explained.
”It doesn't follow that the man was Wandle.”
”Why, no. Still, I guess it's likely; and if there's a trail, it leads to a homestead. Anyway, we'll track it up.”
When they reached the open prairie, the moonlight showed faint wheelmarks running on before them to the east. The country was open and empty; a wide plain, with one slight rise some miles away that cut with a white gleam against the deep blue of the sky. They headed toward it wearily, following the track, and drew bridle when they gained the summit. A half-moon floated rather low in the western sky, glittering keen with frost, and they could see that the prairie ahead of them was more rolling and broken. Dusky smears of bluffs checkered its white surface here and there, and a low irregular dark line ran across it. Prescott supposed this to be a small timber growing along the edge of a ravine. Beyond it, in the distance, a faint glimmer of yellow light caught and held his eye.
It was the one touch of warm color in the chill and lifeless waste of white and blue.
”A homestead,” said Stanton. ”We'll ride as far as the ravine together; and then I guess I'll make for the farm alone. If Wandle's been there looking for horses, he'll strike south and take the trail we left, farther on. You'll head down that way and watch out to cut him off if he lights out before I come up.”
Prescott understood the maneuver. By driving east the fugitive had lost ground, and if he could push on fast enough, Prescott might reach a position from which he could either run him down or turn him back into the hands of the trooper.
When they came to the ravine and descended the deep shadowy hollow, they parted company, Prescott following the opposite brink, because Wandle would have to cross it lower down to regain the south trail. Once or twice he left it for a while when the gorge twisted in a big loop away from him, but he could see nothing of his companion. They had commanded a wide sweep of plain when they crossed the rise, but now that he was on low ground, the scattered bluffs obstructed his view. Indeed, he fancied from their position that they would prevent Stanton's seeing the farm.
Once he stopped and listened with strained attention, but he could hear only the faint sighing of a light wind among the trees he skirted and the snapping of a twig, made by what means he could not tell, for there was no sign of life in all the frozen wilds. It was very dreary, and Prescott had little expectation of overtaking Wandle after the time they had lost, but he doggedly rode on.
At length an indistinct sound, too regular for the wind to account for, reached him, and grew louder when he pulled up his horse. It was a dull, measured throbbing, and he knew it to be the beat of hoofs. It was drawing nearer, but it might be made by Stanton riding to join him, and he headed so as to clear one of the bluffs which prevented his seeing far across the plain. On pa.s.sing the end of the timber he saw another taller patch half a mile off, which hid most of the prairie between him and the farm, and knowing that time might be valuable he clung to the ravine, urging the jaded Clydesdale to its fastest pace, which was very moderate.
He had gone about a mile, opening up the flat waste beyond the second bluff, when the black shape of a team and rig appeared on it. The team was being driven furiously, and in another few moments Prescott was not surprised to see a horseman sweep out from the gloom of the trees behind them. It was, however, soon obvious that the trooper was not gaining ground; Wandle had got fresh horses, his rig was light, while Stanton's mount had already carried him a long way. Prescott's Clydesdale had been harder taxed, but he knew he could not spare the beast. Wandle must have seen him, but he was holding straight on, and this could only be because he was following a trail which led to the easiest crossing of the ravine.