“It’s over the ponies’ heads down thar, Sergeant,” he said, pointing sideways into the dark hollow, “an’ we ’re bound to strike a cross-ridge afore we come to the bluffs.”

“What bluffs?  The Canadian?”

“Yep; it ‘s badly broken kintry a long ways west o’ yere.  Bad lands, mostly, an’ a hell o’ a place for cattle to hide out.”

“Hughes, do you know where Black Kettle’s camp is?”

“Well, no, not exactly.  Las’ winter the Cheyennes was settled ’bout opposite the mouth o’ Buffalo Creek, an’ thar ’re down thar somewhar now.  Thar ‘s one thing sure—­they ain’t any east o’ thet.  As we ain’t hit no trail, I reckon as how Le Fevre’s outfit must hev drifted further then I calc’lated.”

“I thought so at the time,” commented the other quietly.  “However, we will have to make the circle, and, if the country out yonder is as you describe, they will be no better off.  They ’ll have to follow the ridges to get through.  We may get a glimpse when daylight comes.”

They rode on steadily, keeping down below the crest of the hills, yet picking a passage where the snow had been swept clear.  The slipperiness of the incline made their progress slow, as they dared not risk the breaking of a horse’s leg in that wilderness, and the faint light glimmer was most confusing.  The wind had ceased, the calm was impressive after the wild tumult, but the cold seemed to strengthen as the dawn advanced, viciously biting the exposed faces of the men.  The straining ponies were white with frost.  In the gray of a cheerless dawn they reached the first line of bluffs, and drew rein just below the summit, where they could look on across the lower ridges to the westward.

It was a wild, desolate scene, the dull gray sky overhead, the black and white shading below.  Mile on mile the picture unrolled to the horizon, the vista widening slowly as the light increased, bringing forth the details of barren, wind-swept ridges and shallow valleys choked with snow.  Not a tree, not a shrub, not even a rock broke the dead monotony.  All was loneliness and silence.  The snow lay gleaming and untrampled, except as here and there a dull brown patch of dead grass darkened the side of a hill.  Hamlin shadowed his eyes with gloved hands, studying intently inch by inch the wide domain.  Suddenly he arose in his stirrups, bending eagerly forward.

“By heaven!  There they are, Hughes,” he exclaimed, feeling the hot blood course through his veins.  “See, on the incline of that third ridge.  There is a shadow there, and they are not moving.  Here; draw in back of me; now you can see.  It looks as though they had a horse down.”

Hughes stared long in the direction indicated, his eyes narrowed into mere slits.

“Ah! that’s it,” he said at last.  “Horse broke a leg; shot it jest then—­I seen the flash.  Now they ‘re goin’ on.  See!  One fellow climbin’ up behind ‘nother, an’ the horse left lyin’ thar on the snow.”