“I reckon you and I have got enough in common in this chase to play square,” he said grimly.  “We ’re both out after Le Fevre, ain’t we?”

“You bet.”

“All right, then; here ’s your gun.  If you try any trickery, Hughes, I ’d advise that you get me the first shot, for if you miss you ’ll never have another.”

The man drew the sleeve of his coat over his lips, his eyes shifting before the Sergeant’s steady gaze.

“I ain’t thet sort,” he muttered uneasily.  “Yer don’t need to think thet o’ me.”

“Maybe not,” and Hamlin swung into the saddle carelessly.  “Only I thought I ’d tell you beforehand what would happen if you attempt any fool gun-play.  Take the lead, you know the trail.”

Carroll, supporting himself by the table, crept across to the door and watched them, reckless as to the entering cold.  The glare of the white snow revealed clearly the outlines of the disappearing horsemen, as they rode cautiously down the bank.  The thin fringe of shore ice broke under the weight of the ponies’ hoofs, as the riders forced them forward into the icy water.  A moment later the two crept up the sharp incline of the opposite shore, appearing distinct against the sky as they attained the summit.  Hamlin waved his hand, and then, on a lope, the figures vanished into the gloom.  Crying, and swearing at his helplessness, the deserted soldier closed the door, and crept back shivering into his blankets.

Hughes turned his horse’s head to the southwest, and rode steadily forward, the buffalo overcoat giving him a shaggy, grotesque appearance in the spectral light reflected from the snow.  Without a word Hamlin followed, a pace behind.  Their route lay for the first few miles across a comparatively level plateau, over which the fierce wind of the late storm had swept with such violence as to leave the surface packed firm.  The night shut them in silently, giving to their immediate surroundings a mournful loneliness most depressing.  There were no shadows, only the dull snow-gleam across which they passed like spectres, the only sound the crunching of their horses’ hoofs on the crust.  The Sergeant, staring about, felt that he had never looked upon a more depressing spectacle than this gloomy landscape, desolate and wind-swept, still over-arched with low-lying storm clouds, black and ominous.

They advanced thus for two hours, making no attempt to force their animals, and scarcely exchanging a word, both men watchful of the snow underfoot in search of a possible trail, when the character of the country began to change.  The level plain broke into a series of ridges of irregular formation, all evidently heading toward some more southern valley.  In the depressions the snow lay banked in deep drifts, and, after plunging desperately through two of these, unable to judge correctly in the dim light where to ride, Hughes turned more to the south, skirting along the bare slope of a ridge, trusting some turn lower down would yield them the necessary westerning.