“Unless she was alive,” added Philip.  “Unless one or more of the scoundrels searching for valuables in there during the excitement, saw her and carried her off with their other booty.  It’s up to us, Billinger!”

Billinger had reached inside his shirt, and now he drew forth a small paper parcel.

“I don’t know why—­but I kept the tress of hair,” he said.  “See—­”

From between his fingers, as he turned toward Philip, there streamed out a long silken tress that shone a marvelous gold in the sun, and in that same instant there fell from Philip’s lips a cry such as Billinger had not heard, even from the lips of the wounded; and before he could recover from his astonishment, he had leaned over and snatched the golden tress from him, and sat in his saddle staring at it like a madman.

Chapter XVII.  The Girl In The Wreck

In that moment of terrible shock—­in the one moment when it seemed to him as though no other woman in the world could have worn that golden tress of hair but Isobel, Philip had stopped his horse, and his face had gone as white as death.  With a tremendous effort he recovered himself, and saw Billinger staring at him as though the hot sun had for an instant blinded him of reason.  But the lock of hair still rippled and shone before his eyes.  Only twice in his life could he remember having seen hair just like this—­that peculiar reddish gold that changed its lights with every passing cloud.

He had seen it on Isobel, in the firelight of the camp, at Lac Bain—­and he had seen it crowning the beautiful head of the girl back home, the girl of the hyacinth letter.  He struggled to calm himself under the questioning gaze of Billinger’s eyes.  He laughed, wound the hair carefully about his fingers, and put it in his coat pocket.

“You—­you have given me a shock,” he said, straining to keep his voice even.  “I’m glad you had foresight enough to keep the lock of hair, Billinger.  At first—­I jumped to a conclusion.  But there’s only one chance in a hundred that I’m right.  If I should be right—­I know the girl.  Do you understand—­why it startled me?  Now for the chase, Billinger.  Lead away!”

Leaning low over their saddles they galloped into the North.  For a time the trail of the five outlaws was so distinct that they rode at a speed which lathered their horses.  Then the short prairie grass, crisp and sun-dried, gave place to a broad sweep of wire grass above which the yellow backs of coyotes were visible as now and then they bobbed up in their quick, short leaps to look over the top of it.  In this brown sea all trace of the trail was lost from the saddle and both men dismounted.  Foot by foot they followed the faint signs ahead of them, while over their backs the sun rose higher and began to burn with the dry furnace-like heat that had scorched the prairies.  So slow was their progress that after a time Billinger straightened himself with a nervous curse.  The perspiration was running in dirty streaks down his face.  Before he had spoken Philip read the fear that was in his eyes and tried to hide the reflection of it in his own.  It was too hot to smoke, but he drew forth a case of cigarettes and offered one to Billinger.  The agent accepted one, and both lighted in silence, eying each other over their matches.