member."

They climbed up onto the track to determine whether the foot-prints
turned east or west; but further quest here proved useless, on account of
its being a snow-beaten section-hand trail.

Slavin balked again, swore in fluent and horrible fashion. For a space
he remained in brooding thought, then he turned abruptly to his
companions.

"Come on," he jerked out savagely, "let's get back."

In silence they retraced their steps and eventually reached their horses.
Here the sergeant issued curt orders to his men.

"'Tis onlikely th' shtiff can have got very far away--in th' toime Mr.
Gully tells us," he said, "an' he cannot shtay out in th' opin for long
this weather. Get yu're harses over th' ice, bhoys, an' make th' thrack.
Ye'll find an' openin' in th' fence somewheres. Thin shplit, an' hug th'
line--west, yu', Yorkey--as far as Coalmore--yu', Ridmond--back tu Cow
Run. Yez know fwhat tu du. Pass up nothin'--culverts, bridges,
section-huts--anywhere's th' shtiff may be hidin'. If yez du not dhrop
onto um betune thim tu places--shtay fwhere yez are an' search all
freights. 'Phone th' agent at Davidsburg if yez want tu get me. I'm
away from there now--to wire east an' west. Thin--I'm goin' tu ride
freight awhile, up an' down th' thrack. I can get Clem Wilson tu luk
afther T an' B. We must get this man, bhoys."

"Look here, Sergeant," broke in Gully good-naturedly, "as this is partly
on my account I feel it's up to me to try and do what little I can do to
help you in this case. There's not much doing at the ranch just now, so,
if you've no objection, I'll put Silver along with your team and come
with you. As you say--we've simply got to get this fellow, somehow."

"Thank ye, Mr. Gully," responded Slavin gratefully, "betune th' bunch av
us we shud nail th' shtiff all right."

"Should!" agreed the magistrate, enigmatically, "'stiff's' the word for
him." He glanced up at the lowering sky. "Hullo! It's beginning to
snow again--you found those tracks just in time, Sergeant."

Six days elapsed. Six days of fruitless, monotonous work. The evening
of the seventh found the trio disconsolately reunited in their
detachment. Their quest had failed. Slavin, not sparing himself, had
worked Yorke and Redmond to the limits of their endurance, and they,
fully realizing the importance of their objective, had responded loyally.

Gully, apparently betraying a keen interest in the case, had gone out of
his