no mark along the trail that should guide them
more quickly to their goal, so they passed side by side, and neither
said a word for hours along the way. Night came, and the needs of their
ponies made them pause briefly. The trail, too, was harder to follow
now. They might lose it in the darkness and so lose time. And those two
men were going forth to victory. Not for one single heart-beat did they
doubt their power to win, and the stead-fast assurance made them calm.

Daylight again, and a fresher trail made them hurry on. They drank at
every stream and ate a snatch of food as they rode. They reached the
hurriedly quitted Kiowa camp, and searched for the sign of vengeance on
a captive there. Jondo knew those signs, and his heart beat high with
hope.

"They haven't done it yet," he said to his companion. "They want to get
away first. We are safe for a day."

And they rode swiftly on again.

"There's trouble here," Bill Banney declared as he watched the ground.
"Too many feet. Could it be here?"

His voice was hardly audible. The two men halted and read the ground
with piercing eyes. Something had happened, for there had been a
circling and chasing in and out, and the sod was cut deep with
hoofprints.

"No council nor ceremony, no open space for anything." Jondo would not
even speak the word he was bound not to know.

"They've divided, Jondo. Here goes the big crowd, and there a smaller
one," Bill declared.

"There were a lot of Dog Indians along for thieving. They've split here.
Seem to have fussed a bit over it, too. And yonder runs the Kiowa trail
to the north. Here go the Dogs east." Jondo replied. "We'll follow the
Kiowas a spell," he added, after a thoughtful pause.

And again they were off. It was nearing noon now, and the trail was
fresher every minute. At last the plainsmen climbed a low swell, halting
out of sight on the hither side. Then creeping to the crest, they looked
down on the Indian camp lying in a little dry valley of a lost stream
whose course ran underground beneath them.

Lying flat on the ground, each with his head behind a low bush on the
top of the swell, the men read the valley with searching eyes. Then
Jondo, with Bill at his heels, slid swiftly down the slope.

"Gail Clarenden isn't there. We must take the trail east, and ride
hard," he said, in a hoarse voice.

And they rode hard until they were beyond the range of the Kiowa
outposts.

"What's your game, Jondo?" Bill asked, a