When Sibyl and Aaron had related briefly the events that led up to their meeting with the Ranger, and he in turn had told them how he had followed the track of the automobile and, finding the hidden supplies, had followed the trail of James Rutlidge from that point, the officer asked the girl several questions.  Then, for a little while he was silent, while they, guessing his thoughts, did not interrupt.  Finally, he said, “Jack is due at Granite Peak, sometime about noon.  He’ll have his horse, and with Sibyl riding, we’ll make it back down to the head of Clear Creek by dark.  You young folks just wait for me here a little.  I want to look around below there, a bit.”

As he started toward the gulch, Sibyl sprang to her feet and threw herself into his arms.  “No, no, Brian Oakley, you shall not—­you shall not do it!”

Holding her close, the Ranger looked down into her pleading eyes, smilingly.  “And what do you think I am going to do, girlie?”

“You are going down there to pick up the trail of the man who saved Aaron—­who saved me.  But you shall not do it.  I don’t care if you are an officer, and he is an escaped convict!  I will not let you do anything that might lead to his capture.”

“God bless you, child,” answered Brian Oakley, “the only escaped convict I know anything about, this last year, according to my belief, died somewhere in the mountains.  If you don’t believe it, look up my official reports on the matter.”

“And you’re not going to find which way he went?”

“Listen, Sibyl,” said the Ranger gravely.  “The disappearance of James Rutlidge, prominent as he was, will be heralded from one end of the world to the other.  The newspapers will make the most of it.  The search is sure to be carried into these hills, for that automobile trip in the night will not go unquestioned, and Sheriff Walters knows too much of my suspicions.  In a few days, the body will be safely past recognition, even should it be discovered through the buzzards.  But I can’t take chances of anything durable being found to identify the man who fell over the cliff.”

When he returned to them, two hours later, he said, quietly, “It’s a mighty good thing I went down.  It wasn’t a nice job, but I feel better.  We can forget it, now, with perfect safety.  Remember”—­he charged them impressively—­“even to Myra Willard and Conrad Lagrange, the story must be only that an unknown man took you, Sibyl, from your horse.  The man escaped, when Aaron found you.  We’ll let the Sheriff, or whoever can, solve the mystery of that automobile and Jim Rutlidge’s disappearance.”

A half mile from Granite Peak, they met Jack Carleton and, by dark, as Brian Oakley had said, were safely down to the head of Clear Creek; having come by routes, known to the Ranger, that were easier and shorter than the roundabout way followed by the convict and the girl.

It was just past midnight when the three friends parted from young Carleton and crossed the canyon to Sibyl’s old home.