whereabouts to Brent. Moran could see it all. Nash now lay dead in the bottom of some obscure canyon and Betty was somewhere off there in the hills with Brent. It was not a pretty picture.
Moran’s hands were clenched and beads of moisture rolled down his face as he realized his helplessness. He silently cursed himself for entering into this hunt at all; cursed Harmon and Vermont for idling on the way and Kinney for leaving her alone. There was no slightest chance of his getting away to hunt for her. If he was killed in the attempt she was lost. By sheer force of will he fought off the impulse to make a run for it and he strained his ears to catch some distant sound which spoke of approaching help.
The horses stamped fretfully back in the timber beyond the circle of firelight that danced in the little opening and threw fantastic shadows on the trees that fringed it. The hard faces and varied attire of the men completed a wild picture which held no appeal for the two men on the shelf.
Moran’s one devout hope was that they would go and leave him free to hunt for her. Kinney viewed it more coolly and in a different light. If these men should make an all night ride and
