Each man swore frightfully at being prematurely turned out--each man
hated the Greasers with all his heart and soul and strength; but each
man, as he learned what was the matter, made all possible haste, and
fluently cursed all who were slower than himself.

In fact, two or three irrepressible spirits, consuming with delay,
started alone on independent lines of search.

Chagres Charley appeared promptly, and assumed command.

"Boys," said he, "we'll sprinkle out into a line a couple of miles long,
and march up the mountain till we reach the snow. When I think it's
time, I'll fire three times, an' then each feller'll face an' tramp to
the right, keepin' a keerful lookout for a woman's tracks p'intin'
t'ward camp. Ther can't be no mistakin' 'em, for them sennyritas hez the
littlest kind o' feet. When any feller finds her tracks, he'll fire, an'
then we'll rally on him. I wish them other fellers, instid of goin' off
half-cocked, hed tracked Codago, the low-lived skunk. To think of him
runnin' away from wife, an' young one, too! Forward, git!"

"They _hain't_ got no souls--that's what made him do it, Charley," said
Lynn Taps, as the men deployed.

Steadily the miners ascended the rugged slope; rocks, trees, fallen
trunks and treacherous holes impeded their progress, but did not stop
them.

A steady wind cut them to the bone, and grew more keen and fierce as
they neared the snow.