“I told him the old fellows has crawled in and pulled their holes after ’em, but he says it’s a big bear track plain as can be and it’s round the ranch house.”
“What can we do for you?”
“Wish you’d stop on your way home and see what the heck’s eatin’ the feller. It’s Carl Summers—reckon you know him.”
“Yes, sure I know Carl,” Jim replied.
“He’s needin’ a job, and I’se needin’ a watchman, sort of, so I swore him in. He rigged up a contraption—taps the wire and that’s the way he reports every day to me,” the sheriff explained.
“Couldn’t he follow the tracks and see where they lead?” Jim asked.
“That’s the goldurnest part of it. They only lead ’round in a circle. Ain’t no entrance or exit, as it were. He can’t find no place where they start or stop.”
“That is odd. What do you want us to do?”
“See what Carl has to show you and hear what he has to say. If he seems kind o’ sick, take him to your house en fetch the doctor, or if he’s all right, you get in touch with me. If you take him home, ask your pa if he can spare a man to kind o’ keep his eye on the place for a couple o’ days till I can get someone else. I got a bee in my bonnet that young Gordon will land back there one o’ these days, and I’m aimin’ to catch him when he does.”
“We’ll be glad to stop and have a talk with him. I can telephone you from there if it’s anything serious,” Jim agreed.