Men with fresh horses and fresh supplies came up from the valley, and the search went on, settling to a loose system of signals, relief shifts and the laying out of certain districts for certain men to cover, yard by yard.  The body of Hank Brown was lashed upon a horse and taken down to Quincy, and in the evening the mystery of his death was discussed in the kitchen, where the men sat in a haze of tobacco smoke.  Mike had been reported absent from his cabin, the day that Murphy came up from the valley, and he had not returned.  So there was mystery in plenty to keep the talk going.  One man shot dead from ambush and three persons missing, were enough to stir the most phlegmatic soul—­and Mrs. Singleton Corey, however self-possessed her manner, was not phlegmatic.

Stormy day followed stormy day, and still they found no trace of Marion, got no glimpse of Jack.  There were days when the wind made it physically impossible to climb the peak and search for the cave under Taylor Rock, dangerous to be abroad in the woods.  Hank had said that he knew about where the cave was—­but Hank’s lips were closed forever upon garrulous conversation.  Two or three others were more or less familiar with that barren crest, having hunted bear in that locality.  They led the parties that turned their faces toward the peak whenever the wind and the snow promised to hold back for a time.

They began to whisper together, out in the kitchen where they thought that Mrs. Singleton Corey could not hear.  They whispered about the fight that had taken place up at the lookout station, last summer, when Hank had ridden into town sullen and with blackened eyes and swollen lips, and had cursed the lookout on Mt.  Hough.  It began to seem imperative that they locate that cave as soon as possible, and the man who had shot Hank.

Kate mourned because Fred was not there, and talked as though his presence would right nearly everything.  That, and the whispering and the meaning glances among the men when she appeared in the room, exasperated Mrs. Singleton Corey almost beyond endurance.  Why did they not find Jack and the girl?  What possible use could Fred be, more than any other man?  Why didn’t somebody do something?  She had never seen so inefficient a country, it seemed to her.  Why, they had even let the trains stop running, and the telegraph lines were all down!  Nobody seemed to know when communication with the outside world would be possible.  She might have to stay here a month, for all she could learn to the contrary.  There was just one cheerful thought connected with the whole thing, and that was the fact that this Fred, of whom Kate talked so much, could not be summoned.  Mrs. Singleton Corey felt that another Humphrey in the house would drive her quite mad.

Then one day Murphy came stumbling in to the cabin, just after three or four disheartened searchers had arrived, and announced that he had got on the track of the man that shot Hank Brown.