“Mr. Gowdy told us back in Independence,” returned Elder Thorndyke, “that he had inquired of every outfit he met from the time she left him clear back to that place; and he overtook the only two teams on that whole stretch of road that were going east.  It is hard to understand.  It’s a mystery.”

“Was he going on east?” I asked—­and I thought I heard a stir in the bed back of me as I waited for the answer.

“No,” said the elder, “he is coming back this way, hunting high and low for her.  I have no doubt he will find her.  She can not have reached a point much farther east than this.  She is sure to be found somewhere between here and Independence—­or within a short distance of here.  There is nothing dangerous in the weather, the wild animals, or anything, but the bewilderment of being lost and the lack of food.  God will not allow her to be lost.”

“I guess not,” said I, thinking of the fate which led me to my last night’s camp, and of Gowdy’s search having missed me as he rode by in the night.

They drove on, leaving us standing by the roadside.  Virginia crept forward and peeked over the back of the seat after them until they disappeared over a hillock.  Then she began begging me to go where Gowdy could not find us.  He would soon come along, she said, with that tool of his, Pinck Johnson, searching high and low for her as that man had said.  Everybody would help him but me.  I was all the friend she had.  Even those two good people who were inquiring were helping Gowdy.  I must drive where he could not find us.  I must!

“He can’t take you from me,” I declared, “unless you want to go!”

“What can you do?” she urged wildly.  “You are too young to stand in his way.  Nobody can stand in his way.  Nobody ever did!  And they are two to one.  Let us hide!  Let us hide!”

“I can stand in anybody’s way,” I said, “if I want to.”

I was not really afraid of them if worst came to worst, but I did see that it was two to one; so I thought of evading the search, but the hiding of a team of four cows and a covered wagon on the open Iowa prairie was no easy trick.  If I turned off the road my tracks would show for half a mile.  If once the problem of hiding my tracks was solved, the rest would be easy.  I could keep in the hollows for a few miles until out of sight of the Ridge Road, and Gowdy might rake the wayside to his heart’s content and never find us except by accident; but I saw no way of getting off the traveled way without advertising my flight.  Of course Gowdy would follow up every fresh track because it was almost the only thing he could do with any prospect of striking the girl’s trail.  I thought these things over as I drove on westward.  I quieted her by saying that I had to think it out.