and began tugging at the leash. Swan got up and, moving
stealthily, followed the dog.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"I COULDA LOVED THIS LITTLE GIRL"

A chill wind that hurried over Bear Top ahead of the dawn brought Swan
and Jack clattering up the trail that dipped into Spirit Canyon.
Warfield rose stiffly from the one-sided warmth of the fire and walked a
few paces to meet him, shrugging his wide shoulders at the cold and
rubbing his thigh muscles that protested against movement. Much riding
upon upholstered cushions had not helped Senator Warfield to retain the
tough muscles of hard-riding Bill Warfield. The senator was saddle-sore
as well as hungry, and his temper showed in his blood-shot eyes. He
would have quarreled with his best-beloved woman that morning, and he
began on Swan.

Why hadn't he come back down the gulch yesterday and helped track the
girl, as he was told to do? (The senator had quite unpleasant opinions
of Swedes, and crazy women, and dogs that were never around when they
were wanted, and he expressed them fluently.)

Swan explained with a great deal of labor that he had not thought he was
wanted, and that he had to sleep on his claim sometimes or the law would
take it from him, maybe. Also he virtuously pointed out that he had come
with Yack before daylight to the canyon to see if they had found Miss
Hunter and gone home, or if they were still hunting for her.

"If you like to find that jong lady, I put Yack on the trail quick," he
offered placatingly. "I bet you Yack finds her in one-half an hour."

With much unnecessary language, Senator Warfield told him to get to
work, and the three tightened cinches, mounted their horses and prepared
to follow Swan's lead. Swan watched his chance and gave Lone a chunk of
bannock as a substitute for breakfast, and Lone, I may add, dropped
behind his companions and ate every crumb of it, in spite of his worry
over Lorraine.

Indeed, Swan eased that worry too, when they were climbing the pine
slope where Al had killed the grouse. Lone had forged ahead on John Doe,
and Swan stopped suddenly, pointing to the spot where a few bloody
feathers and a boot-print showed. The other evidence Jack had eaten in
the night.

"Raine's all right, Lone. Got men coming. Keep your gun handy," he
murmured and turned away as the others rode up, eager for whatever news
Swan had to offer.

"Something killed a bird," Swan explained politely, planting one of his
own big fee