Through most of the day Dave and Solange pushed on up the canyon and the snow fell steadily, deepening under foot. As yet there were no drifts, for the wind was not blowing and progress was easy enough. After a few hours the snow grew deep enough to ball up under the feet of the horses and to cause some inconvenience from slipping. More than once Solange was in danger of being thrown by the plunge of her horse as his feet slid from under him. This served to retard their progress considerably but was not of much consequence aside from that and the slight element of added danger. They had no more than fifteen miles to go before reaching the rendezvous, and this they made shortly after noon. Dave, who had become more silent than ever when he found himself alone with the girl, pitched the tent and then went to gather a supply of wood. Unused to strenuous riding, Solange went into her tent and lay down to rest. They had expected to find De Launay, but there was no sign of him. Dave said that he might be within a short distance and they not know it, and asserted his intention of scouting around to find him after he had got the wood. Solange was asleep when he came back with a load snaked in with his lariat, and he did not disturb her. Leaving the wood he rode on up the canyon looking for signs of De Launay. But, although he spent the better part of the afternoon in the search, riding in and out of every branch gully, and quartering up the slopes to where the black stands of timber began, he found no trace of the man. Finally, fearing that Solange would begin to be frightened at his absence, he turned and started back to the camp. He had marked it by a large outcrop that stuck out of the canyon wall, forming a flat oblong bench of rock. This had hung on the slope about a hundred feet above the floor of the valley, and so he made his way along at about that height. It was beginning to get dark, the snow was falling heavily and he found it difficult to see far in front of him. "High time old Sucatash was fannin' in fer dogs," he said to himself. "The winter's done set in for sure." Fearing that he would miss the camp by keeping so high he headed his horse downward and finally reached the bottom of the canyon. Here the snow was deeper but the going was better. He turned downward with some relief, and was just about to spur his horse to greater speed when, through the gray mist of snow, a shadowy figure loomed up before him. "Hey, De Launay?" he called. The figure did not answer but moved toward him. He reined in his horse and leaned outward to look more intently. Behind the man, who was mounted, he saw the blurred outlines of pack animals. "De Launay?" he called again. The figure seemed to grow suddenly nearer and more distinct, descending close upon him. "It ain't no Delonny," chuckled a shrill voice. "It's me." "Huh!" said Dave, with disgust. "Jim Banker, the damned old desert rat!"