“No—not yet. I can’t tell you why, but somehow it strikes me that there is mischief in this. Why did she wait there until he was ready to chase her? She must have seen what we were by the fire-light. Then, if friendly, why run at all? I believe it’s a decoy of the Kiowas—you know they are getting saucy again. If so, they are still in here, or else we would have seen them as they rode away. Put out the lights and we will explore the place. They can’t be far away.” After some objections this plan was adopted, and the party, with ready weapons, explored the ravine for full half a mile. Then their progress was stopped by a barrier of huge bowlders, over which a footman could scarcely clamber in noonday, much less a horse and rider. “It’s no use,” muttered Fenton, disgustedly. “We can do nothing here in the dark. Besides, I believe that they must have turned round the timber, instead of coming into this hole. In my opinion we’ve all been acting like a pack of natural born fools!” “The fust sensible words I’ve heerd sence leavin’ camp,” uttered another. “You may be right. I hope so, anyhow. We can go up and see if the trail comes out again into soft ground, as it must if they went into the wood.” “First, give him a salute. He _may_ be in here, hunting for the girl, if she hid from him. It can do no harm, and may do good. If alive and within hearing, Fred’ll answer.” The rifles were discharged, one quickly succeeding the other, and then all listened breathlessly. Minute after minute passed by, without any reply. Campbell drew a long breath. “Well, let’s go. If he _is_ in here, he will not mind a little delay—for he must be dead!” Slowly the little party retraced their steps and emerged from the _baranca_. Mounting their horses they rode slowly off along the edge of the flinty ground, scattered at regular intervals from that to the trees, in order that, should one overlook the trail, another might find it. The hopes that had been roused by Fenton’s suggestion grew fainter with each rod passed over. And when the end of the timber island was reached, full three miles from where the trail was lost, the hunters reined in their horses, their heads drooping in despair. That hope—seemingly the last—was banished. “What shall we do now?” “What _can_ we do?” and Campbell’s voice sounded strained and husky. “I hev it!” cried Ruel. “The dorgs—we kin trail him ’th them!” “That’s so—why didn’t we think of it before?” “We can try—but I haven’t much hope,” gloomily added Campbell. “You know how we rode around—we must have covered the trail.” “But we can _try_—don’t be so craven, Ned. It’s not like you to gi’ up so easy.” “I know it—but something tells me that Fred is lost—if not dead, that we will never see him again. Why, I don’t know. I never felt so before to-night. Boys,” and his voice sunk to a whisper, “I believe that was a—a _spirit_ that poor Fred chased!”