“And then”—­said Miss Cantire impatiently.

“We must turn back until we find them again.”

The young lady frowned.  “Why not keep on until we get to the top?” she said pettishly.  “I’m sure I shall.”  She stopped suddenly as she caught sight of his grave face and keen, observant eyes.  “Why can’t we go on as we are?”

“Because we are expected to come back to the coach—­and not to the summit merely.  These are the ‘orders,’ and you know you are a soldier’s daughter!” He laughed as he spoke, but there was a certain quiet deliberation in his manner that impressed her.  When he added, after a pause, “We must go back and find where the tracks turned off,” she obeyed without a word.

They walked for some time, eagerly searching for signs of the missing vehicle.  A curious interest and a new reliance in Boyle’s judgment obliterated her previous annoyance, and made her more natural.  She ran ahead of him with youthful eagerness, examining the ground, following a false clue with great animation, and confessing her defeat with a charming laugh.  And it was she who, after retracing their steps for ten minutes, found the diverging track with a girlish cry of triumph.  Boyle, who had followed her movements quite as interestedly as her discovery, looked a little grave as he noticed the deep indentations made by the struggling horses.  Miss Cantire detected the change in his face; ten minutes before she would never have observed it.  “I suppose we had better follow the new track,” she said inquiringly, as he seemed to hesitate.

“Certainly,” he said quickly, as if coming to a prompt decision.  “That is safest.”

“What do you think has happened?  The ground looks very much cut up,” she said in a confidential tone, as new to her as her previous observation of him.

“A horse has probably stumbled and they’ve taken the old trail as less difficult,” said Boyle promptly.  In his heart he did not believe it, yet he knew that if anything serious had threatened them the coach would have waited in the road.  “It’s an easier trail for us, though I suppose it’s a little longer,” he added presently.

“You take everything so good-humoredly, Mr. Boyle,” she said after a pause.

“It’s the way to do business, Miss Cantire,” he said.  “A man in my line has to cultivate it.”

She wished he hadn’t said that, but, nevertheless, she returned a little archly:  “But you haven’t any business with the stage company nor with me, although I admit I intend to get my Dunstable hereafter from your firm at the wholesale prices.”

Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, softened by distance, floated down from the ridge above them.  “There!” said Miss Cantire eagerly.  “Do you hear that?”

His face was turned towards the distant ridge, but really that she might not question his eyes.  She continued with animation:  “That’s from the coach—­to guide us—­don’t you see?”