Carefully, Aaron King searched—­as he had seen the Ranger do—­for signs.  Beginning at a spot near the edge of the cliff, he worked gradually, back and forth, in ever widening arcs, toward the pines below.  He was almost ready to give up in despair, cursing himself for being such a fool as to think that he could pick up a trail, when, clearly marked in a bit of softer soil, he saw the print of a hob-nailed boot.

Instantly the man’s weariness was gone.  The long, hard way he had come was forgotten.  Insensible, now, to hunger and fatigue, he moved eagerly in the direction the boot-track pointed.  He was rewarded by another track.  Then, as he moved nearer the softer ground, toward the trees, another and another and then—­

The man—­worn by his physical exertion, and by his days of mental anguish—­for a moment, lost control of himself.  Clearly marked, beside the broad track of the heavier, man’s boot, was the unmistakable print of a smaller, lighter foot.

For a moment he stood with clenched fists and heaving breast; then, with grim eagerness, with every sense supernaturally alert, with nerves tense, quick eyes and ready muscles, he went forward on the trail.

* * * * *

It was after dark, that night, when Brian Oakley, on his way back to Clear Creek, stopped at the rock where the artist had left his note.

Reaching the floor of the canyon, he crossed to tell Myra Willard and the novelist the result of the day’s search.  The men riding in the vicinity of Pine Glen had found nothing.  It had been—­as the Ranger expected—­impossible to follow back for any distance on the track of the roaming horse, for the animal had been grazing about the Pine Glen neighborhood for at least a day.  Over the note left by Aaron King, the mountaineer shook his head doubtfully.  Aaron had done right to go.  But for one of his inexperience, the way along the crest of the Galenas was practically impossible.  If the young man had known, he could have made the trip much easier by returning to Clear Creek and following up to the head of that canyon, then climbing to the crest of the divide, and so around to Granite Peak.  The Ranger, himself, would start, at daybreak, for the peak, by that route; and would come back along the crest of the range, to find the artist.

At Carleton’s, they told the officer that Aaron’s horse had come in.  Jack Carleton and his father arrived from the country above Lone Cabin and Burnt Pine, a few minutes after Brian Oakley reached the ranch.  It was agreed that Henry should join the searchers at Pine Glen, at daybreak—­lest any one should have seen the artist’s camp-fire, that night, and so lose precious time going to it—­and that Jack should accompany the Ranger to Granite Peak.

Henry Carleton had gone on his way to Pine Glen, and Brian Oakley and Jack were in the saddle, ready to start up the canyon, the next morning, when a messenger from the Sheriff arrived.  An automobile had been seen returning from the mountains, about two o’clock that night.  There was only one man in the car.