"I can't understand it," he repeated for the twentieth time; "some accident must have befallen him. Can it be Motoza has had anything to do with it?" It was the first time that Jack had expressed this fear in words, but it was by no means the first time he had felt it. Rather curiously, from the moment his friend passed out of sight, several hours before, the vague misgiving began to shape itself in his mind. He fought it off and succeeded in repressing it for a time, but he could do so no longer. "Fred didn't seem to give any meaning to that awful look of the Sioux when he started to walk away, but I saw what it meant, though I never dreamed the blow would fall so soon." His heart was depressed almost beyond bearing, and the anguish was deepened by the fact that he could see no way of helping his friend. The only thing possible was to follow as nearly as he could the course taken by Fred, but there was no certainty of that. He knew he had turned to the right when he left the crest of the ridge, after which there had been no glimpse of him. "But he made for a point over yonder," reflected Jack, "and there I'll search for him." This was exceedingly indefinite, but it was better than standing idle. The antelope had long since vanished, and there was no need of care in his progress--rather otherwise, since he desired to attract the notice of his friend. Jack broke into a loping trot, emitting the familiar signal so often used by both, calling his name, and even firing his rifle in air; but there came back no response, and his fears deepened. Jack was in the mood to be unjust. "I don't understand Hank Hazletine's action. He sets out to take us on a hunt among the mountains, and then goes off and leaves us alone. Why doesn't he stay with us? If he had done that, this never could have happened. Fred and I can generally take care of ourselves, but we are not used to this plagued country, which I wish neither he nor I had ever set foot in." CHAPTER XIV. MISSING. The minute quickly arrived when Jack Dudley could no longer doubt that a great misfortune had befallen his comrade, Fred Greenwood. In the anguish of anxiety Jack's imagination pictured many mishaps that might account for the disappearance. He must have heard the report of the elder's Winchester, and, since Fred's attention was centred upon the herd of antelope, he could not fail to know that his friend had secured one of them for their evening meal. The only thing to prevent his hastening to join Jack must have been his inability to do so. There was the remote possibility that his accident had been of a nature that involved no one else--such, for instance, as sudden illness, though Jack had never known anything like that to overtake his friend.