could not be delayed long, although the girl was quick-witted, and would
surely realize that her personal safety depended upon keeping up the
deception to the last possible moment. Yet the discovery must finally
occur, and there was no guessing what form Hawley's rage would
assume when he found himself baffled, and all his plans for a fortune
overturned. Keith fully realized Hope's peril, and his own helplessness
to serve her in this emergency was agony. As they hurried back to the
town, he briefly reviewed these conclusions with Waite and Fairbain, all
alike agreeing there was nothing remaining for them to do except to take
up the trail. The fugitives had already gained too great an advantage
to be overhauled, but they might be traced to whatever point they were
heading for. In spite of the start being so far to the west, Keith was
firmly convinced that their destination would prove to be Carson City.

Procuring horses at the corral, their forces augmented by two
volunteers--both men of experience--Keith, Waite, Fairbain, and Neb
departed without delay, not even pausing to eat but taking the necessary
food with them. The sun had barely risen when they took up the trail,
Keith, and a man named Bristoe, slightly in advance, their keen eyes
marking every slight sign left for guidance across the bare plain. It
was a comparatively easy trail to follow, leading directly into the
southwest, the pony tracks cutting into the sod as though the reckless
riders had bunched together, their horses trotting rapidly. Evidently
no attempt had been made at concealment, and this served to convince the
pursuers that Hawley still believed his captive to be Miss Maclaire, and
that her disappearance would not be suspected until after nightfall.
In that case the trail could not be discovered before the following
morning, and with such a start, pursuit would be useless. Tireless,
steadily, scarcely speaking except upon the business in hand, the
pursuers pressed forward at an easy trot, Keith, in spite of intense
anxiety, with the remembrance of old cavalry days to guide him,
insisting upon sparing the horses as much as possible. This was to be
a stern chase and a long one, and it was impossible to tell when they
could procure remounts. The constant swerving of the trail westward
seemed to shatter his earlier theory, and, brought him greater
uneasiness. Finally he spoke of it to the old plainsman beside him.

"What do you suppose those fellow