ng the arroyos, the trail
sometimes heading straight for the mountains, and again turning toward
the south, sometimes following the sandy watercourse beds and
sometimes the hilltops, and again crossing them at varying angles.
Once they lost it entirely, and searched over a wide area in vain,
until Marguerite found a shred of brown linen hanging upon the thorny
limb of a mesquite bush.

"This is from his dress!" she exclaimed.

About the same time Mead saw a number of dog-like tracks, all going in
the same direction, and a sickening fear rose in him so great that he
scarcely dared sweep with his eyes the arroyo into which they were
descending. He did not let Marguerite see that he had noticed anything
unusual, and she followed him silently, wondering how he could trace
the trail so rapidly. For he knew that he need not stop to look for
the child's footprints. He could follow swiftly, almost on the run,
the plain trail of the dog-like tracks down the sandy arroyo.
Presently she saw him stoop and pick up something from the ground. He
turned and held out to her a large yellow chrysanthemum. She ran to
him and seized it eagerly.

"Yes, I picked it as we were leaving home yesterday. He wanted it and
I gave it to him. And he clung to it all this way! I wonder what made
him drop it finally!"

Mead did not tell her of the fear that probably had relaxed the little
muscles and sent the weary feet flying over the sand. He could think
of no word of encouragement to say, for he felt no hope in his heart.
But her face had lighted with the finding of the flower and she seemed
to feel almost as though it were a call from the child. She pressed
the yellow bloom to her face and thrust it into her bosom. Then she
dropped upon her knees and hid her face in her hands. Mead felt that
she was praying, and impulsively he took off his hat and bent his
head, but his eyes still swept the arroyo in front of them. As they
went on he noticed that the child's tracks had been almost
obliterated. Here and there a toe print, pressed deeply into the sand,
showed that the little one had been running. At last Mead stopped
beside a large flat stone. The child's footprints showed plainly
beside it. And the dog-like tracks ranged in a half circle six or
eight feet distant.

"He must have sat down here to rest," said Mead, hoping she would not
notice the other tracks. But she saw them and looked at him with
sudden fear in her eyes. A single word shaped i