As Aldous asked himself these questions his blood ran hot and cold by turns.  And the answer to them drew a deep breath of fear and of anguish from him as he tried again to run among the rocks.  There could be but one answer:  Quade would fight.  He would fight like a madman, and if this fight had happened and FitzHugh had been killed Joanne had already gone utterly and helplessly into his power.  He believed that FitzHugh had not revealed to Quade his relationship to Joanne while they were on the plain, and the thought still more terrible came to him that he might not reveal it at all, that he might repudiate Joanne even as she begged upon her knees for him to save her.  What a revenge it would be to see her helpless and broken in the arms of Quade!  And then, both being beasts——­

He could think no farther.  The sweat broke out on his face as he hobbled faster over a level space.  The sound of the water between the chasm walls was now a thunder in his ears.  He could not have heard a rifle-shot or a scream a hundred yards away.  The trail he was following had continually grown narrower.  It seemed to end a little ahead of him, and the fear that he had come the wrong way after all filled him with dread.  He came to the face of the mountain wall, and then, to his left, he saw a crack that was no wider than a man’s body.  In it there was sand, and the, sand was beaten by footprints!  He wormed his way through, and a moment later stood at the edge of the chasm.  Fifty feet above him a natural bridge of rock spanned the huge cleft through which the stream was rushing.  He crossed this, exposing himself openly to a shot if it was guarded.  But it was not guarded.  This fact convinced him that MacDonald had been killed, and that his enemies believed he was dead.  If MacDonald had escaped, and they had feared a possible pursuit, some one would have watched the bridge.

The trail was easy to follow now.  Sand and grassy earth had replaced rock and shale; he could make out the imprints of feet—­many of them—­and they led in the direction of a piece of timber that apparently edged a valley running to the east and west.  The rumble of the torrent in the chasm grew fainter as he advanced.  A couple of hundred yards farther on the trail swung to the left again; it took him around the end of a huge rock, and as he appeared from behind this, his knife clutched in his hand, he dropped suddenly flat on his face, and his heart rose like a lump in his throat.  Scarcely fifty yards above him was the camp of his enemies!  There were two tepees and piles of saddles and panniers and blankets about them, but not a soul that he could see.  And then, suddenly, there rose a voice bellowing with rage, and he recognized it as Quade’s.  It came from beyond the tepee, and he rose quickly from where he had thrown himself and ran forward, with the tepee between him and those on the other side.  Close to the canvas he dropped on his knees and crawled out behind a pile of saddles and panniers.  From here he could see.