dying its
trend, and the direction of the intervening valleys. Once down on the
other slope all this extensive view would be hidden; they would have to
ride blindly, guessing at the particular swale along which those others
were advancing. To come to the summit again would surely expose them
to those keen Indian eyes. They would be searching the trail ahead
ceaselessly, noting every object along the crests of the ridges.
However, if the passage around was not blocked with snow, they ought to
attain the junction in ample time. With twice as far to travel, their
ponies were strong and fit, and should win out against Le Fevre's
starved beasts. He waved his gloved hand.

"We 'll try it," he said shortly; "come on, Hughes."

He led off along the steep side of the hill, and forcing his horse into
a sharp trot, headed straight out into the white wilderness; Hughes,
without uttering a word, brought down his quirt on his pony's flank and
followed.

CHAPTER XXX

THE FIGHT IN THE SNOW

The slope toward the south had not been swept clear by the wind, and
the horses broke through the crust to their knees, occasionally
stumbling into hollows where the drifts were deep. This made progress
slow, although Hamlin pressed forward recklessly, fully aware of what
it would mean should the fugitives emerge first, and thus achieve a
clear passage to the river. What was going on there to the right,
behind the fringe of low hills, could not be conjectured, but to the
left the riders could see clearly for a great distance over the
desolate, snow-draped land, down to the dark waters of the Canadian and
the shore beyond. It was all a deserted waste, barren of movement, and
no smoke bore evidence of any Indian encampment near by. A mile or
more to the west the river took a sharp bend, disappearing behind the
bluffs, and on the open plain, barely visible against the unsullied
mantle of snow, were dark specks, apparently moving, but in erratic
fashion. The distance intervening was too great for either man to
distinguish exactly what these might be, yet as they plunged onward
their keen eyes searched the valley vigilantly through the cold clear
air.

"Some of your long-horns, Hughes?" asked the Sergeant finally, pointing
as he turned and glanced back. "Quite a bunch of cattle, it looks to
me."

"Them thar ain't cows," returned the other positively. "Tha 're too
closely bunched up. I reckon it 'll be Black Kettle's pony herd