Campbell uttered a furious curse as he noted this, but then a gleam lighted up his countenance. The fugitive was heading directly for the timber point where he had lost sight of her and Fred Hawksley, a week previously. Now, should she disappear as strangely as then, he would know that she was concealed somewhere in the _baranca_, and it would go hard but that he unearthed the mystery. With these thoughts, Ned urged his beast forward, at its best pace. As the woman neared the timber point, she turned her head and glanced back over her shoulder. Campbell almost fancied that he could detect her scornful, taunting laugh as she waved a hand toward him, then bending forward, disappeared around the clump of trees. “Now I will know—if she _is_ gone, then I have her foul. I’ll solve the mystery of Fred’s disappearance, and that too before this day’s sun sets!” he muttered, as his spurs rankled the big horse’s sides. In a few moments he also rounded the point of trees, and abruptly pulled up his horse, with a low cry. As he suspected, the prairie was open and untenanted. The strange rider had disappeared. But then as he glanced downward at the tracks of the spotted mustang, Campbell saw that they turned abruptly to the right, running close to the underbrush, instead of heading for the _baranca_. For a moment the young hunter was disconcerted. CHAPTER VII. ON GUARD. Ned Campbell sat his horse with an air of irresolution. For a moment he appeared at a loss what course to pursue. He glanced quickly around him. The black column of smoke had disappeared. Evidently Zeb Ruel had regained the other party. Ned was in a quandary whether to hasten to join them, to search for Fannie, or to follow up the faint clue that lay before him, which might lead to the discovery of his lost friend and almost brother, Fred Hawksley. With an effort he decided. “It is what Fannie would wish, did she know it,” he muttered, as he shook the reins free. “There are better eyes than mine at work over yonder, and I could do no particular good. She would tell me to hunt for poor Fred.” Campbell was following the trail of the spotted mustang, bending low in his saddle, for the ground was rapidly becoming more hard as he advanced, and the small hoofs had not cut deeply into the turf. Though keen-eyed, the young hunter soon found that he must dismount, or run the risk of losing the trail altogether. Like a well-trained dog, the big bay horse followed him at a little distance. Step by step Ned picked up the trail, that gradually grew fainter and more indistinct. Its course led along nearly equidistant from the _motte_ and the _baranca_, yet heading so that, if maintained, the _baranca_ would be headed. Yet Ned knew that this could not have been done, in the short time that he was hidden from view. He knew that the trail either entered the wood or else the _baranca_.