Uncle Dick in his distress welcomed the note of sympathy. Somehow, he felt curiously drawn to this successful rival, and he was sure that his feeling was returned. Between the two men there was a curious mutual respect, as if each relied on the entire good sense of one who had loved Fanny Brown. The older man craved a confidant; he was avid for counsel and every possible assistance in this emergency. He told the facts as concisely as possible, while Seth Jones, wedded raptures forgot, listened in growing sorrow and dismay. At the end, he spoke simply: "I'll take a look 'long with ye, Mister Siddon. I done a heap o' trackin' in my time, out West. Perhaps, I kin he'p ye some."
Uncle Dick put out his hand, and the two palms met in a warm clasp, witness of friendship's pact. Forthwith, they gave themselves to minute examination of the trail for any sign of the missing girl.
For a time, their patient search went unrewarded. But, about a half-mile beyond Luffman's Branch, they came on an area still affected by one of the small showers so frequent in the mountains. Here, the veteran's alert eyes distinguished a footprint outlined in the damp dust.
"Yer gal was barefut, I reckon," he said. He pointed to the imprint just before where he was standing.
"Yep," Uncle Dick answered. There was a little mist over his eyes, as he glanced down. "Yep; hit's her'n."
The veteran went forward confidently now.
"She was a-steppin' plumb brisk," he declared; "feelin' pretty peart, I 'low; feet kind o' springy-like."
Uncle Dick shivered at the words. He had a ghastly vision of Plutina moving at this moment with painfully dragging steps somewhere afar in the fastnesses of the mountains. But he said nothing of the worst fears to his companion. He only followed on, watching closely lest something escape the other's survey. Almost, he found himself hoping they might come on the girl's dead body. Death is not the worst of evils.
After a mile, or a little less, the area of the shower was passed. Uncle Dick could hardly distinguish any sign of the footprints in the heavy dust of the trail, but he accepted without question the veteran's assertion that they were easily perceptible to the trained sight. Suddenly, Seth Jones halted, and peered intently, stooping low. Uncle Dick, too, bent to look, but the faint markings in the dirt were without significance to him. The veteran moved to the roadside and searched on hands and knees over the yard of grass between the trail and a thicket. When he stood erect again, he regarded his companion inquiringly.