bare.

Neale halted, sweating, hot, wild, before his friend. Larry avoided his
gaze.

"She's gone!... She's gone!" Neale panted.

"Wal, mebbe Slingerland moved camp an' burned this place," suggested
Larry. "He was sore after them four road-agents rustled in heah."

"No--no. He'd have left the cabin. In case he moved--Allie was to write
me a note--telling me how to find them. I remember--we picked out the
place to hide the note... Oh! she's gone! She's gone!"

"Wal, then, mebbe Slingerland got away an' the cabin was burned after."

"I can't hope that... I tell you--it means hell's opened up before me."

"Wal, it's tough, I know, Neale, but mebbe--"

Neale wheeled fiercely upon him. "You're only saying those things! You
don't believe them! Tell me what you do really think."

"Lord, pard, it couldn't be no wuss," replied Larry, his lean face
working. "I figger only one way. This heah. Slingerland had left Allie
alone... Then--she was made away with an' the cabin burned."

"Indians?"

"Mebbe. But I lean more to the idee of an outfit like thet one what was
heah."

Neale groaned in his torture. "Not that, Reddy--not that!... The Indians
would kill her--scalp her--or take her captive into their tribe... But
a gang of cutthroat ruffians like these... My God! if I KNEW that had
happened it'd kill me."

Larry swore at his friend. "It can't do no good to go to pieces," he
expostulated. "Let's do somethin'."

"What--in Heaven's name!" cried Neale, in despair.

"Wal, we can rustle up every trail in these heah Black Hills. Mebbe we
can find Slingerland."

Then began a search--frantic, desperate, and forlorn on the part of
Neale; faithful and dogged and keen on the part of King. Neale was like
a wild man. He heeded no advice or caution. Only the cowboy's iron arm
saved Neale and his horse. It was imperative to find water and grass,
and to eat, necessary things which Neale seemed to have forgotten. He
seldom slept or rested or ate. They risked meeting the Sioux in every
valley and on every ridge. Neale would have welcomed the sight of
Indians; he would have rushed into peril in the madness of his grief.
Still, there was hope! He lived all the hours in utter agony of mind,
but his heart did not give up.

They coursed far and near, always keeping to the stream beds, for if
Slingerland had made another camp it would be near water. More than
one trail led nowhere; more than one horse track roused hopes that were
fut