The children were whimpering, the wives lamenting.  The quiet men searched the house and yard and corrals and fields.  But they found no sign of Mescal.  After long hours the excitement subsided and all sought their beds.

Morning disclosed the facts of Mescal’s flight.  She had dressed for the trail; a knapsack was missing and food enough to fill it; Wolf was gone; Noddle was not in his corral; the peon slave had not slept in his shack; there were moccasin-tracks and burro-tracks and dog-tracks in the sand at the river crossing, and one of the boats was gone.  This boat was not moored to the opposite shore.  Questions arose.  Had the boat sunk?  Had the fugitives crossed safely or had they drifted into the canyon?  Dave Naab rode out along the river and saw the boat, a mile below the rapids, bottom side up and lodged on a sand-bar.

“She got across, and then set the boat loose,” said August.  “That’s the Indian of her.  If she went up on the cliffs to the Navajos maybe we’ll find her.  If she went into the Painted Desert—­” a grave shake of his shaggy head completed his sentence.

Morning also disclosed Snap Naab once more in the clutch of his demon, drunk and unconscious, lying like a log on the porch of his cottage.

“This means ruin to him,” said his father.  “He had one chance; he was mad over Mescal, and if he had got her, he might have conquered his thirst for rum.”

He gave orders for the sheep to be driven up on the plateau, and for his sons to ride out to the cattle ranges.  He bade Hare pack and get in readiness to accompany him to the Navajo cliffs, there to search for Mescal.

The river was low, as the spring thaws had not yet set in, and the crossing promised none of the hazard so menacing at a later period.  Billy Naab rowed across with the saddle and packs.  Then August had to crowd the lazy burros into the water.  Silvermane went in with a rush, and Charger took to the river like an old duck.  August and Jack sat in the stern of the boat, while Billy handled the oars.  They crossed swiftly and safely.  The three burros were then loaded, two with packs, the other with a heavy water-bag.

“See there,” said August, pointing to tracks in the sand.  The imprints of little moccasins reassured Hare, for he had feared the possibility suggested by the upturned boat.  “Perhaps it’ll be better if I never find her,” continued Naab.  “If I bring her back Snap’s as likely to kill her as to marry her.  But I must try to find her.  Only what to do with her—­”

“Give her to me,” interrupted Jack.

“Hare!”

“I love her!”

Naab’s stern face relaxed.  “Well, I’m beat!  Though I don’t see why you should be different from all the others.  It was that time you spent with her on the plateau.  I thought you too sick to think of a woman!”

“Mescal cares for me,” said Hare.

“Ah!  That accounts.  Hare, did you play me fair?”