CHAPTER XVI
THE TRAIL OVER THE PASS
Some riders' spurs are the lightest when their hearts are the heaviest."
IT was a clear day, but in the increasing light, white clouds could be seen whirling from the crest of Lost Chief.
"Lost Chief is making snow, but we won't get it before evening," said Peter, as they dismounted at the post-office corral. "Now we'll just outfit for a couple of days. I'm believing we'll overtake one or both before night, but you can't tell. If Jude was crazy enough to run away in zero weather, she's crazy enough to have taken any kind of a risk and to be paying for it."
Douglas went swiftly and silently to work. The sun was just pushing over the Indian Range when, each leading a pack-horse, they crossed Lost Chief Creek and started up the long climb to the Pass. Here the wind was rising and dry snow sifted constantly across the trail, obliterating any trace of hoofs that might have been there. It was slow going, too, for there had been much snow on the Pass and the drifts were frequent and deep. Douglas was extremely sparing of his mount. Nothing that he could do should interfere with his efficiency in the search, and although his mad desire bade him rowell the straining brute, he rode light of heel, resting at frequent enough intervals to satisfy even Peter's large ideas of what was owing to a horse.
