Keith, fretting more and more over this necessary delay, and now obsessed with the thought that Hawley must have rejoined his party on the Arkansas and gone south with them, finally broke away from the others and rode ahead, to gather together the necessary horses and supplies in advance of their arrival. He could not drive from his mind the remembrance of the gambler's attempted familiarity with Hope, when he had her, as he then supposed, safe in his power once before in that lonely cabin on the Salt Fork. Now, angry with baffled ambition, and a victim of her trickery, there was no guessing to what extremes the desperado might resort. The possibilities of such a situation made the slightest delay in rescue an agony almost unbearable. Reaching Carson City, and perfectly reckless as to his own safety there from arrest, the plainsman lost no time in perfecting arrangements for pushing forward. Horses and provisions were procured, and he very fortunately discovered in town two cowboys belonging to the “Bar X” outfit, their work there accomplished and about ready to return to, the ranch on the Canadian, who gladly allied themselves with his party, looking forward to the possibilities of a fight with keen anticipation. Keith was more than ever delighted with adding these to his outfit, when, on the final arrival of the others, the extra man brought from Sheridan announced that he had had enough, and was going to remain there. No efforts made revealed any knowledge of Hawley's presence in Carson City; either he had not been there, or else his friends were very carefully concealing the fact. The utter absence of any trace, however, led Keith to believe that the gambler had gone elsewhere--probably to Fort Larned--for his new outfit, and this belief left him more fully convinced than ever of the fellow's efforts to conceal his trail.
The party escorting Waite reached the town in the evening, and in the following gray dawn, the adventurers forded the river, and mounted on fresh horses and fully equipped, headed forth into the sand hills. The little company now consisted of Keith, Fairbain, who, in spite of his rotundity of form had proven himself hard and fit, Neb, having charge of the single pack-horse, the scout Bristoe, and the two cowboys of the “Bar X,” rough, wiry fellows, accustomed to exposure and peril. It was emphatically a fighting outfit, and to be trusted in emergency.