But suddenly a sick fear came over Norah.
"Jim," she said, "we don't know where Monarch got rid of Dad, of
course?"
"No; but I expect it was near where they picked up his tracks."
"You don't think it might have been in the ranges?"
Jim looked suddenly aghast; but his face cleared.
"No," he said, decidedly; "I don't. That place where Monarch had been
playing up shows Dad must have been on him--a horse alone doesn't go to
market as he seems to have done there. I guess you can put that notion
out of your head, mate." He smiled at Norah, who answered him with a
grateful look.
Five miles from the boundary they came upon the tracks--to see them gave
Norah a queer sense of comfort, since in a way they brought her in
touch with Dad. Then they separated, beating into the scrub that hemmed
them round everywhere, except when low, stony hills rose naked out of
the green undergrowth.
"We must shout to each other every few minutes to make sure we're not
getting too far apart," Jim said. "Of course, it's not so risky when
you're riding--if you gave old Sirdar his head anywhere I know he'd take
you home. Still, you don't gain anything by going far apart. A
systematic search is what's necessary in a place like this, where you
might ride half a dozen yards from him and not see him.
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