nch. The coals where their camp-fire
had been were still alive. Broken bits of food lay scattered about.
Half-trampled into the ground the sheriff picked up a narrow gold
chain and locket. This last he opened, and found it to contain a tiny
photograph of a young mother and babe, both laughing happily. A close
search failed to disclose anything else of interest.

They returned to their companions, ate breakfast, and saddled. It was
by this time light enough to be moving. The trail was easy as a printed
map, for the object of the outlaws had been haste rather than secrecy.
The posse covered it swiftly and without hesitation.

"Now, I wonder why this trail don't run straight south instead of
bearing to the left into the hills. Looks like they're going to cache
their stolen gold up in the mountains before they risk crossing into
Sonora. They figure Bucky'll be on the lookout for them," the sheriff
said to his deputy.

"I believe you've guessed it, Val. Stands to reason they'll want to get
rid of the loot soon as they can. Oh, hell!"

Dillon's disgust proved justifiable, for the trail had lost itself in a
mountain stream, up or down which the outlaws must have filed. A month
later and the creek would have been dry. But it was still spring. The
mountain rains had not ceased feeding the brook, and of this the outlaws
had taken advantage to wipe out their trail.

The sheriff looked anxiously at the sky. "It's fixin' to rain, Jim.
Don't that beat the Dutch? If it does, that lets us out plenty."

The men they were after might have gone either upstream or down. It was
impossible to know definitely which, nor was there time to follow both.
Already big drops of rain were splashing down.

"We'll take a chance, and go up. They're probably up in the hills
somewhere right now," said Collins, with characteristic decision.

He had guessed right. A mile farther upstream horses had clambered to
the bank and struck deeper into the hills. But already rain was falling
in a brisk shower. The posse had not gone another quarter of a mile
before the trail was washed out. They were now in a rough and rocky
country getting every minute steeper.

"It's going to be like lookin' for a needle in a haystack, Val," Dillon
growled.

Collins nodded. "We ain't got one chance in a hundred, Jim, but I reckon
we'll take that chance."

For three days they blundered around in the hills before they gave it
up. The first night, about dusk, the pursuers