here the remaining horses had swerved from the trail and turned
northward, looking for water perhaps. Stonor pinned a note to a tree,
briefly telling Tole what had happened, and bidding him hasten forward
with all speed.

Stonor followed the hoof-prints then through the trackless bush,
painfully slow going over the stones and the fallen trunks, with many a
pitfall concealed under the smooth moss. After an hour of this he
finally came upon them all five standing dejectedly about in a narrow
opening, as if ashamed of their escapade and perfectly willing to be
caught.

Mounting Miles Aroon, he drove the others before him. To avoid the risk
of breaking their legs he had to let them make their own slow pace over
the down timber, and it was a sore trial to his patience. He had already
been gone two hours. When finally he struck the trail again he saw that
his note to Tole was still where he had left it. He let it stay, on the
chance of its bringing him on a little quicker. He put his horses to the
trail at a smart pace. They all clattered through the bush, making
dizzying turns around the tree-trunks.

As he approached the little meadow by the Meander his heart rose slowly
in his throat. He had been more anxious for their safety than he would
let himself believe. As he came to the edge of the trees his eyes were
ready to leap to the spot where he had left his charges. A shock awaited
them. Of the three little tents there was but one remaining, and no sign
of life around it. He furiously urged his horse to the place.

Mary and Clare were gone with Imbrie. The camp site was trampled by
scores of hoofs. The Indians had taken nothing, however, but the two
little tents and the personal belongings of the women--an odd
scrupulousness in the face of the greater offence. All the tracks made
off across the meadow towards the side trail back to the Swan.

CHAPTER XIV

PURSUIT

Stonor sat down on a grub-box, and, gripping his bursting head between
his hands, tried to think. His throbbing blood urged him to gallop
instantly in pursuit. They could not have more than two hours' start of
him, and Miles Aroon was better than anything they had in the way of
horse-flesh, fresh into the bargain. But a deeper instinct was telling
him that a little slow thought in the beginning brings quicker results
at the end.

Even with only two hours' start they might make the village before he
overtook them, and Imbrie might get away on the