dily through the stinging frost.
He had been unable to obtain a fresh horse, but he had borrowed a saddle,
and the Clydesdale, though far from fast, possessed good staying powers.
For all that, he had been forced to rest part of the day at an outlying
farm, and while there a man brought him word from Stanton, whose line of
travel ran roughly parallel with his, three or four leagues to the west.
The trooper's horse had gone badly lame, and Prescott was instructed to
push on while Stanton sought another mount.

It was a very bitter night, but the young rancher was used to cold, and,
riding alone in the moonlight, he made the best pace he could across the
white desolation. There was no sign of life on it. Nothing moved in the
reeds beside the frozen ponds and the shadowy bluffs he passed; no sound
but the thud of heavy hoofs broke the overwhelming silence. By and by he
left the trees behind, and pressed on into a vast glittering plain which
ran back to the horizon, unbroken by a bush, and inexpressibly lonely.

In the early morning he reached a homestead where he rested until the
afternoon. He chafed at the delay, but as the Clydesdale was badly jaded,
it could not be avoided, and Wandle would have to stop now and then,
unless he could hire fresh horses, which might be difficult. Starting
again, he came to a small wooden settlement in the evening and rode first
to the livery-stable. The telephone wires, which were being stretched
across the prairie, had not reached the place, and he surmised that the
police had been unable to communicate with it. The liveryman was busy in
one of the stalls, but he came out and answered Prescott's question.

"Yes," he said, "a fellow like the one you speak of came in here about an
hour ago. His team looked pretty used up and he wanted to hire another,
but I couldn't deal. Keep my horses hauling cordwood through the winter,
and the only team I have in the stable is ordered by a drummer for
to-morrow."

"Can't you find me a mount? I'll pay you what you like."

"No, sir," said the other. "When I engage to drive a man round, I've got
to make good. If I didn't, it would soon ruin my trade."

Seeing he was not to be moved, Prescott asked:

"How do you strike the south trail?"

"Go straight through the town. It forks in about three miles, and you can
take either branch. They're both pretty bad, but the west one's the
shorter and the worse."

"What's between the forks?"

"A big patch of