The search for Whizzer Malloy was a failure. Several men came from Silverton and Barney Devine sent out a big crew from the Red Hill mine, but to no avail. Every inch of the big cañon and the mountains surrounding it had been explored, but there was not even a footprint to show where the little fellow had passed.
“She’s not leave de track,” declared Mose La Clede, who had joined the search. “Up de cañon, ’bout mile be’ond where de stage go bus’, I’m find de track of beeg griz-i-lee. By gosh, she may be so dat de griz-i-lee find her firs’.”
“Aw hell!” snorted Silent. “Even if a grizzly caught the kid, we’d sure find some evidence of it, Mose.”
“I’m be not so damn sure. Griz-i-lee pick her up jus’ like you pick up ol’ hat. Dat damn bear, she’s strong. She’s pick up de sheep—w’y not de lee
