"Well, go on, then. Run your beatingest, in a bee line, due west. That's the way she took, and that's the trail you'll find her on, if so be you find her at all."
Those at the Fort looked, wondered, but did not object, as this dark _voyageur_ strode straight into the stables and to a box stall where Tempest enjoyed a life of pampered indolence. They realized that this was no stranger, but one to whom all things were familiar--even the animal which answered so promptly to the cry:
It was a voice he had never forgotten. The black gelding's handsome head tossed in a thrill of delight, and the answering neigh to that love call was good to hear. In a moment Gaspar had found a saddle, slipped it into place, and, scarcely waiting to tighten its girth, had leaped upon the animal's back.
"Forward, Tempest! Be true to your name!"
Those who saw the rush of the gallant creature through the open gates of the stockade acknowledged that he would be.
The sunshine was in his eyes, and a warmer sunshine in his heart, as Gaspar urged the gelding forward.
Fast it was. The faithful creature recognized the burden he carried, and his clean, small feet reeled off the distance like magic, till the village by the lake was left far behind, and only the limitless prairie stretched beyond. Yet still there was no sign of the Snowbird along the horizon, nor any point discernible where an Indian encampment might be.
At length the rider paused to consider the matter.
"It's strange I don't see her. If she were crossing the level, anywhere, I should, for my eyes are trained to long distances. It must be that Abel gave me the wrong direction. I'll turn north, and try."
But, keen-sighted though he was, for once the woodsman blundered. Between him and the lowering sun the prairie dipped and rose again, the two borders of the hidden valley seeming to meet in one unbroken plain. It was in this little depression that the wigwams were pitched, and among them the Sun Maid was already moving and pleading with her friends for patience and peace.
Meanwhile, Gaspar continued on his chosen route, at a direct right angle from that he should have followed, till the twilight came down and the whole landscape was swathed in mist. For there had been heavy rains of late, and the vapor rose from the soaked and sun-warmed earth like a great white pall, filling the hunter's nostrils and blinding his sight.