The clump of bushes was small; the ground was moist. He looked around, then stooped and examined the ground. Yes, this was the very spot! Here were the footprints of a man, and here he had kneeled upon one knee as he took aim when the shot was fired. Without doubt he had rested the gun in the crotch of a sapling that was just the right height. A slight abrasion in the bark of the sapling told Merriwell he was right.
But whither had the wretch gone? Frank looked around, he forced himself through the bushes. There were the tracks.
A valley lay below. Away to the west the baying of the hounds sounded, fainter and fainter. Through the valley ran a small stream. There was some timber, and into the thickest of this a horseman was vanishing. Something in his hands looked like a gun.
“There’s my game,” cried Frank. “I’d give something for a good horse——Jupiter!”
A horse was feeding in a pasture at a distance. It looked like a fairly good animal.
A moment later Frank was running back toward the spot where the dead black horse lay under the fence. Two or three of his friends were there. He gave no heed to them, but, with feverish haste, he stripped the bridle from the dead animal.
“What’s up, Merry?” asked Rattleton, excitedly. “Who did it, anyway? and what are you——See him go!”
But Frank stopped suddenly and wheeled about.
“I want that horse, Rattleton!” he cried. “There’s one over yonder you may take, if you want to bother to saddle and bridle him. I can’t spare the time to catch him.”
Harry tried to ask further questions, but not a word would Frank reply. He pulled Rattleton from the saddle, and sprang up himself. Then he gave the animal the spur and was away.