The outlaw, Mestayer, as we must now call him—gazed keenly and curiously at this strangely found relation. He scarce knew what to think. Until now, he believed him dead, for that was what they—himself and brother—had been taught to think. “Never mind. We will talk matters over after awhile, when you are stronger. If what I have heard of you is correct, you may be of service to me. But now, let me look to your hurts, and you can tell me how you received the first.” As the old man’s nimble fingers bound up the wounds, Mestayer told the events of that night, so far as he knew them, concealing nothing. He did not fear his uncle would shrink from the crime. CHAPTER V. THE MAIDEN’S PERIL. Over a week had passed by since the night on which this story opened, a week during which much had been done though little effected. Early in the day following the house-burning, a heavy shower fell that effectually obliterated all trails left by the fleeing Night Hawks and also destroyed Campbell’s hopes of discovering his lost friend with the aid of hounds. Through that long week he had scarce rested an hour at a time, spurred on by the pleadings of Fred’s sister, Fannie Hawksley. He searched every rod of the _baranca_, in company with Ruel and several other of the lost man’s comrades, but without finding the slightest trace or clue. They clambered over the rocky barricade, little suspecting the secrets it concealed, or that the old man and his peerless daughter were silently laughing at them for their mole-like blindness. Thoroughly convinced that their friend had not entered the _baranca_ at all, the young hunters returned to the level prairie. There a surprise awaited them. Beyond the _baranca_, a mile distant, they caught sight of a horse feeding upon the juicy grass. One glance sufficed. It was the big yellow horse Mott, on which Fred Hawksley had set forth in pursuit of the strange woman. The animal was alone, saddled and bridled. Nothing could be seen of his master. The prairie around was closely scrutinized. One thing was plain; the horse had not crossed the _baranca_, nor been nearer to it than when found, since daylight, else the rain-moistened turf would have betrayed the fact. Following its trail, they found where it had stood for some time tied to the hanging limb of a tree, in a hollow hidden from the _baranca_, a mile or more distant. But nowhere could they find the imprints of human feet. All was done that human ingenuity could devise, but at the end of the week, all was wrapt in darkness. Nothing was learned regarding the young man’s fate, nor, during that time, had any thing been heard of the strange woman rider. Both had seemingly disappeared together, without leaving any trace. The agonized grief of the bereaved family had settled down to a more quiet, though not less acute sorrow. The everyday duties of life must be performed, though the heart be breaking.