Near the middle of the forenoon, as the soldiers were riding up a
canon, on each side of which rose rugged sandstone precipices, we came
to a fork in the trail and the canon. Not only the track parted, but,
judging from footprints, most of the captured stock had passed to the
right. Weaver said the right-hand path led to the northern branch of
the Santa Maria, and the left to the southern.
I halted the detachment, perplexed. To divide my party of twenty-nine
in order to follow both trails seemed to me to be inviting disaster.
To take the whole number over a wrong trail and not rescue Brenda was
a course to be dreaded. I called up the scouts, Weaver and Cooler, for
a consultation.
"Don't you think it is probable," I asked, "that a girl who was
thoughtful enough to drop a 'sign' to show she is alive and a captive,
would be likely to give a hint here as to which trail she was taken
over?"
"That's prob'ble, liftinint," replied Weaver. "'F you'll hold th' boys
here a bit, George an' I'll ride up th' two trails a piece an' look
for signs.
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