ency. Nothing but vacancy and silence
encompassed him. At his feet the snow was still trampled; he could see
where the man had kneeled to fire; where he had run down the opposite
side of the hill. There had been only one--a white man from the
imprint--and he had fled south, vanishing in the smother.

It required an effort for the Sergeant to recover, to realize his true
position, and the meaning of this mysterious attack. He was no longer
numb with cold or staggering from weakness. The excitement had sent
the hot blood pulsing through his veins; had brought back to his heart
the fighting instinct. Every desire urged him forward, clamoring for
revenge, but the aroused sense of a plainsman held him motionless,
staring about, listening for any sound. Behind him, down there in the
hollow, were huddled the horses of his outfit, scarcely distinguishable
from where he stood. If he should venture farther off, he might never
be able to find a way back again. Even in the gray light of dawn he
could see nothing distinctly a dozen yards distant. And Wasson had the
compass. This was the thought which brought him tramping back through
the drifts--Wasson! Wade was dead, Carroll little better, but the
scout might have been only slightly wounded. He waded through the snow
to where the man lay, face downward, his hand still gripping the rein.
Before Hamlin turned him over, he saw the jagged wound and knew death
had been instantaneous. He stared down at the white face, already
powdered with snow; then glared about into the murky distances,
revolver ready for action, every nerve throbbing. God! If he ever met
the murderer! Then swift reaction came, and he buried his eyes on the
neck of the nearest horse, and his body shook with half-suppressed
sobs. The whole horror of it gripped him in that instant, broke his
iron will, and left him weak as a child.

But the mood did not last. Little by little he gained control, stood
up again in the snow, and began to think. He was a man, and must do a
man's work. With an oath he forced himself to act; reloaded his
revolver, thrust it back into the holster at his hip, and, with one
parting glance at poor Sam, ploughed across through the drifts to
Carroll. He realized now his duty, the thing he must strive to
accomplish. Wade and Wasson were gone; no human effort could aid them,
but Carroll lived, and might be saved. And it was for him alone now to
serve Molly. The sudden compreh