“Right you are, Willie,” Hurley agreed. He leaned over the dazed gambler. “Hi, Dick! Do you know me? Joe Hurley! See?” “Where—where am I?” whispered Dick. “You’re in the Grub Stake, all right, Dick,” broke in Tolley eagerly. “The old Grub Stake, I tell ye—that you never ought t’ve left.” “Grub Stake? Tolley?” questioned Dick. Then he opened his eyes wide and recognized Hurley’s face so close to his own. “That you, Joe? I——” “Which way did you come into town, Dick?” broke in the mining man. “Eh? What?” “Did you come through the East Fork or the West Fork?” “Why—why, the East Fork.” “You did! Did you see anybody on the way down? You came down the cliff, didn’t you? Anybody up on the plain?” were Hurley’s excited questions. “Why—I—I——” “Two women are out in the storm,” went on Hurley. “Did you see them anywhere up yonder?” “Two women? I—I thought they were men. They rode down ahead of me. Then it grew so—so thick I couldn’t see ’em again.” “Great saltpeter!” exclaimed Hurley. “You must have passed ’em. They are up there somewhere among the rocks.” “Or they’ve gone over the rocks—hosses and all!” groaned Collins. “Shut up!” muttered his chum, Cale Mack. “Ain’t you got no sense? Look at the parson!” “This is Parson Hunt,” explained Hurley to the staring Dick. “His sister Betty is one of the missing girls you saw.” “_Who?_” gasped Dick. “Betty Hunt? Here? Here? At Canyon Pass?” “My sister,” Hunt said hoarsely. “Didn’t you see her and Nell Blossom again as you rode down?” “Your sister?” repeated the startled gambler. “Betty Hunt—your sister?” He fell back and closed his eyes. Hurley started for the front door. “No time to lose, boys,” he cried. “Come on! Betty and Nell are somewhere up there along that path. No more delay.” He had already knotted one end of the rope around his waist. Hunt followed his example, leaving six feet or more of slack between them. The other men who were going with them quickly fastened themselves in rotation. They knotted neckerchiefs or mufflers across their faces. Nobbs opened the door for them, and the file went out into the storm. The roar of the storm as the men came out upon the open bank of the East Fork made the human voice quite inaudible. Nor could they communicate by signs, for only the dim outlines of the man before him could be seen by the man behind. A tug of the rope was the only signal understood between the searchers. The driven hail churned the surface of the river to a livid foam. The reflection of this sheet of ruffled water lent them more light than the sun itself. The storm beat upon the string of men with a savageness that appalled Hunt, who had never experienced nature in so bitter a mood. But what these men of Canyon Pass could do, the parson would not shrink from. And were not the two beings he loved most in this world—Nell Blossom and his sister Betty—in desperate peril somewhere on the other side of the wind-lashed stream?