With the two troopers he pushed on toward the river, choosing the upper ford as being the most likely choice of the fugitives.

The trampled mud of the north bank exhibited fresh tracks, but none he could positively identify.

However, a party on horseback had crossed within a few hours, and, without hesitation, he waded out into the stream.
The gray of dawn was in the sky as the three troopers, soaked to the waist, crept up the south bank and studied the trail.

Behind them the yellow lanterns still bobbed about between the river and town, but there was already sufficient light to make visible the signs underfoot.
Horsemen had climbed the bank, the hoof marks yet damp where water had drained from dripping fetlocks, and had instantly broken into a lope.
A moment's glance proved this to Hamlin as he crept back and forth, scrutinizing each hoof mark intently.
"Five in the party," he said soberly.

"Three mustangs and two American horses, cavalry shod.