Ten minutes they spent searching the gulley’s edge.  Then they saw dimly, twenty feet below, a huddled object half-hidden in the brush.  They climbed down none too warily, though they knew well what might be lying, venomous as a coiled rattler, in wait for them below.  Slipping and sliding in the fog-dampened grass, they reached the spot, to find the big sorrel crumpled there, dead.  They searched anxiously and futilely for more, but Blink was not there, nor was there anything to show that he had ever been there.  Then not fear, perhaps, but caution, came to Happy Jack.

“Aw, say! he’s got away on us—­the skunk!  He’s down there in the brush, somewheres, waiting for somebody to go in and drag him out by the ear.  I betche he’s laying low, right now, waiting for a chance to pot-shot us.  We better git back out uh this.”  He edged away, his eyes on the thicket just below.  To ride in there was impossible, even to the Happy Family in whole or in part.  To go in afoot was not at all to the liking of Happy Jack.

Slim gave a comprehensive, round-eyed stare at the unpromising surroundings, and followed Happy Jack.  “By golly, that’s right.  Yuh don’t git me into no hole like that,” he assented.

Weary, foolhardy to the last, stayed longest; but even Weary could not but admit that the case was hopeless.  The brush was thick and filled the gully, probably from end to end.  Riding through it was impossible, and hunting it through on foot would be nothing but suicide, with a man like Blink hidden away in its depths.  They climbed back to the rim, remounted and rode, as straight as might be, for the camp-fire and what lay beside, with Pink on guard.

It was near noon when, through the lightening fog, they reached the place and discovered that Andy, though unconscious, was not dead.  They found, upon examination of his hurt, that the bullet had ploughed along the side of his head above his ear; but just how serious it might be they did not know.  Pink, having a fresh horse and aching for action, mounted and rode in much haste to camp, that the bed-wagon might be brought out to take Andy in to the ranch and the ministrations of the Little Doctor.  Also, he must notify the crew and get them out searching for Blink.

All that night and the next day the cowboys rode, and the next.  They raked the foothills, gulley by gulley, their purpose grim.  It would probably be a case of shoot-on-sight with them, and nothing saved Blink save the all-important fact that never once did any man of the Flying U gain sight of him.  He had vanished completely after that fleeting glimpse Happy Jack had gained, and in the end the Flying U was compelled to own defeat.

Upon one point they congratulated themselves:  Andy, bandaged as he was, had escaped with a furrow ploughed through the scalp, though it was not the fault of Blink that he was alive and able to discuss the affair with the others—­more exactly, to answer the questions they fired at him.