Mrs. Hawksley, her terror and despair momentarily stilled by the stern and peremptory words of her husband, hastened down-stairs to dispatch the children, as directed, for assistance. Hawksley, cool and collected, began slowly searching the two chambers, in hope of finding some clue to the real object of the abductor. This second blow, following so closely upon the disappearance of his only grown son, instead of crushing him to the earth, seemed to call forth all his energies, and to fit him for the difficult task that lay before him. Nothing was forgotten or overlooked. He was disappointed in his search, for nothing was found that could assist him in the quest. Then descending the stairs, he bade his wife fill his saddle-bags with food, his canteen with strong coffee, while he made ready his horse. Ten minutes later he was in the saddle, renewing his instructions regarding his neighbors when they should arrive. He rode out from the yard, and making a broad circuit, quickly struck the trail. There could be no mistaking this, for it lay plainly imprinted upon the dew-moistened ground. Dismounting, he closely examined each of the four hoof-prints, registering them indelibly upon his memory. “I’ll not forget,” he muttered, swinging himself once more into the saddle. “Large hoofs, shod in front; a triangular chip broken from the inside edge of the off hind foot. Now it only remains to follow the trail to its end. Sooner or later we must meet, and then, Mark Haley—if that be your name—beware! As God hears me, I will kill you without mercy! And if—if harm has come to my poor child, I’ll torture you so that the most devilish red-skin would blush for shame at his ignorance!” Bending low in the saddle, Hawksley rode on at a rapid gallop, his keen eye, sharpened by a knowledge of his child’s peril, picking up the trail unerringly. Straight as the flight of a crow, for miles, led the trace. Hawksley’s brow darkened as he noted this. The abductor seemed striking for the broad, unsettled prairie. Could it be that he was one of those fiendish renegades who found a refuge among the Kiowas? He could think of no other solution for the abductor taking such a course. “Never mind—’twill only be the easier to trail him, if he keeps away from the settled track. Ha! what is that?” Checking his horse he bent down and picked up a circular patch of cloth, covered with some sticky substance. A groan broke from his lips as he divined the use it had been put to. One mystery was cleared up: that why Fannie had not given the alarm while being taken from her home. “Curse him!” hissed Hawksley, hurling the bit of plaster away. “Curse my blindness in not seeing through his mask. Poor Fred’s fate should have taught me more caution. But never mind—my time will come.”