Once more, westward across the prairie country, there moved a tall and sinewy youth astride a vicious looking buckskin.  This time, however, it was very early in the morning.  The rider moved slowly, his eyes on the ground.  His outfit was more elaborate than on the former journey.  A heavy blanket and a light camp kit were strapped behind his saddle, and so attached that they could be quickly transferred to his back.  A big rifle was stretched across his right knee and the saddle-horn.  At either hip rode a great holster.  The air, despite the cloudiness, was bitter cold; and he wore a heavy sheepskin coat with the wool turned in, and long gauntlets reaching half-way to his elbows.  A broad leather belt held the heavy coat in place, and attached to it was a thin sheath from which protruded the stout handle of a hunting-knife.  He also wore another belt, fitted with many loops, each holding a gleaming little brass cylinder.  No one seeing the man this morning could have made the mistake of considering him, as before, on a journey to see a lady.

Slowly day advanced.  The east resolved itself from flaming red into the neutral tint of the remainder of the sky.  The sun shone through the clouds, dissipated them, was obscured, and shone again.  The something which the man had been watching so intently gradually grew clearer.  It was the trail of another horse—­a galloping horse.  It was easy to follow, and the rider looked about him.  After a few miles, when the mustang had warmed to his second wind, a gauntleted hand dropped to the yellow neck and stroked it gently.

“Let ’em out a bit, Buck,” said a voice, “let ’em out!” and with a flick of the dainty ears, almost as if he understood, the little beast fell into the steady swinging lope which was his natural gait, and which he could follow if need be without a break from sun to sun.

On they went, the trail they were following unwinding like a great tape steadily before them, the crunch of the frozen snow in their ears, tiny particles of it flying to the side and behind like spray.  But, bravely as they were going, the horse ahead which had unwound that band of tracks had moved more swiftly.  Not within inches did the best efforts of the buckskin approach those giant strides.  It had been a desperate rider who had urged such a pace; and the grim face of the tall youth grew grimmer at the thought.

Not another sound than of their own making did they hear.  Not an object uncovered of white did they see, until, thirteen miles out, they passed near the deserted Baker ranch; but the trail did not stop, nor did they, and ere long it faded again from view.  The course was dipping well to the north now, and Ben realized that not again on his journey would he pass in sight of a human habitation.