The rightness of Buck's conjecture was proved before evening, but not without long and painful effort. Joan was utterly weary, and the man was reduced to such weakness and disability as, in all his life, he had never known.
But they faced their task with the knowledge that with every moment of delay in procuring food their chances of escape from that land of ruin were lessening. With food, and, consequently, with Buck's horse, safety would be practically assured. They would then, too, be able to prosecute a search for the man they both had learned to love so well.
With nightfall their hopes were realized, but only at a terrible cost to the man. So great had become his weakness and suffering that it was Joan who was forced to make provision for the night.
Both horses were grazing together with an unconcern that was truly equine. Nor, when reviewed, was their escape the miracle it appeared. At the height of the storm they had been left on the farthest confines of the plateau of Devil's Hill, where no fire would reach them, and at a considerable distance from the lake. Their native terror of fire would have held them there in a state bordering on paralysis. In all probability no power on earth could have induced them to stir from the spot where they had been left, until the drenching rain had blotted out the furnace raging below. This had been Buck's thought. Then, perhaps, laboring under a fear of the quakings caused by the subterranean fires of the hill, and their hungry stomachs crying out for food, they had left the dreaded hill in quest of the pastures they craved.
The well-stocked saddle-bags, which Buck's forethought had filled for the long trail, now provided these lonely wanderers in the wilderness with the food they needed, the saddle-blankets and the saddles furnished their open-air couches, and the horses, well, the horses were there to afford them escape when the time came, and, in the meantime, could be left to recover from the effects of the storm and stress through which they, too, had passed.
With the following dawn Buck's improvement was wonderful, and Joan awoke from a deep, night-long slumber, refreshed and hopeful. An overhauling of their supplies showed them sufficient food, used sparingly, to last a week. And with this knowledge Buck outlined their plans to the girl, who hung upon his every word.
"We can't quit yet," he said, when they had broken their fast.
The girl waited, watching his dark contemplative eyes as they looked across the water at the diminished hill.
"Nope," he went on. "We owe him more'n that. We must chase around, an'--find him. We must----"