A horse and saddle were missing, and the tracks in the snow pointed the way they had gone.
There was nothing necessary but to follow.
A detour, then the tracks led the way to the Ohadi road, and behind them came the pursuers, heads down against the wind, horses snorting and coughing as they forced their way through the big drifts, each following one another for the protection it afforded.

A long, silent, cold-gripped two hours,--then finally the lights of Ohadi.
But even then the trail was not difficult.

The little town was asleep; hardly a track showed in the streets beyond the hoofprints of a horse leading up the principal thoroughfare and on out to the Georgeville road.

Onward, until before them was the bleak, rat-ridden old roadhouse which formed Laura's home, and a light was gleaming within.
Silently the pursuers dismounted and started forward, only to stop short.

A scream had come to them, faint in the bluster of the storm, the racking scream of a woman in a tempest of anger.