It would have taken a month to comb the country.

They had only a day, and left the result to chance, but chance failed them.

When the shadows commenced to swing across the gullies they turned back and rode with downward heads, silent.
One hill lay between them and the old ranch house which had been the headquarters for their gang so many days, when they saw a faint drift of smoke across the sky--not a thin column of smoke such as rises from a chimney, but a broad stream of pale mist, as if a dozen chimneys were spouting wood smoke at once.
They exchanged glances and spurred their horses up the last slope.

As always in a short spurt, the long-legged black of Jacqueline out-distanced the cream-colored mare, and it was she who first topped the rise of land.

The girl whirled in her saddle with raised arm, screamed back at Pierre, and rode on at a still more furious pace.
What he saw when he reached a corresponding position was the ranch house wreathed in smoke, and through all the lower windows was the red dance of flames.