Brian Oakley decided to send the main company of riders over into the Pine Glen country, to continue the search there.  He knew that the men who found the horse would follow the animal’s track back as far as possible.  He knew, also, that if the animal had been wandering several hours, as was likely, it would be impossible to back-track far.  Late as it was, Aaron King rode up the canyon to tell Myra Willard and Conrad Lagrange the result of the day’s work.

The artist’s voice trembled as he told the general opinion of the mountaineers; but Myra Willard said, “Mr. King, they are wrong.  My baby will come back.  There’s harm come to her no doubt; but she is not dead or—­I would know it.”

In spite of the fact that Aaron King’s reason told him the woman of the disfigured face had no ground for her belief, he was somehow helped, by her words, to hope.

Chapter XXXIV

The Tracks on Granite Peak

The searching party was already on the way over to Pine Glen, when Brian Oakley stopped at Sibyl’s old home for Aaron King.  The Ranger, himself, had waited to receive the morning message from the Sheriff.

When the two men, following the Government trail that leads to the neighborhood where the girl’s horse had been found, reached the fire-break on the summit of the Galenas, the officer said, “Aaron, you’ll be of little use over there in that Pine Glen country, where you have never been.”  He had pulled up his horse and was looking at his companion, steadily.

“Is there nothing that I can do, Brian?” returned the young man, hopelessly.  “God, man!  I must do something!  I must, I tell you!”

“Steady, old boy, steady,” returned the mountaineer’s calm voice.  “The first thing you must do, you know, is to keep a firm grip on yourself.  If you lose your nerve I’ll have you on my hands too.”

Under his companion’s eye, the artist controlled himself.  “You’re right, Brian,” he said calmly.  “What do you want me to do?  You know best, of course.”

The officer, still watching him, said slowly, “I want you to spend the day on that point, up there,”—­he pointed to the clump of pines,—­“with this glass.”  He turned to take an extra field-glass from his saddle.  Handing the glass to the other, he continued “You can see all over the country, on the Galena Valley side of this range, from there.”  Again he paused, as though reluctant to give the final word of his instructions.

The young man looked at him, questioningly.  “Yes?”

The Ranger answered in a low tone, “You are to watch for buzzards, Aaron.”

Aaron King went white.  “Brian!  You think—­”

The answer came sharply, “I am not thinking.  I don’t dare think.  I am only recognizing every possibility and letting nothing, nothing, get away from me.  I don’t want you to think.  I want you to do the thing that will be of greatest service.  It’s because I am afraid you will think, that I hesitate to assign you to the position.”