Jack's hasty survey failed to reveal any cause for fear, and he
resumed his pursuit, as it may be termed. The quick glances he cast
on the ground in front showed, in every instance, that the horse he
was following was fleeing at the same headlong pace. His rider had
spurred him to a dead run, at which gait he had shot underneath the
limbs of the trees at great risk to himself as well as to his rider.

The trail was broad, for loaded horses had passed in both
directions, and wild animals availed themselves of it more than once
in making their pilgrimages to the Mississippi, or in migrating from
one part of the country to the other.

But there were no footprints that had been made within the past few
days, with the single exception noted--that of the horse which had
abruptly broken into a full run.

The balmy afternoon was drawing to a close, and Jack began to
believe the chances were against overtaking his friend and
companion, young Otto Relstaub.

"If he has kept this up very long, he must be far beyond my reach,
unless he has turned about and taken the back trail."

Glancing at the sky as seen through the branches overhead, the youth
observed that it was clear, the deep blue flecked here and there by
patches of snowy clouds, resting motionless in the crystalline air.

Comparatively young as was Jack, he had been thoroughly trained in
woodcraft. When beyond sight of the cabins of the straggling