[Illustration: The report was followed by a mad yelp of pain]
"A fair shot, Dave!" cried the old frontiersman, and striding forward he dispatched the wounded wolf with his hunting knife. "Doin' almost as well as Henry now, ain't ye?"
"Not quite as well as that," was Dave's modest answer.
The new fall of snow had covered all traces of the tragedy recently enacted at the spot, but the Morrises had brought along a pair of shovels and a broom, and soon the party was at work, clearing away the snow as Sam Barringford directed.
The remains of man and horse were at last uncovered, and then began an earnest search for some clew which might lead to the identity of the unfortunate person.
"Here is a gold ring," said Henry presently, and held it up.
Joseph Morris took the ring and examined it with care. There was an inscription inside, but it was so worn he could not decipher it.
They also brought to light several pieces of clothing, torn to tatters as Barringford had said. The horse's saddle was likewise there and the reins and curb, but absolutely nothing which gave either name or address.
"This looks as if we were stumped," said Henry, pausing in his labor of digging away the snow.
"Right ye are," came from Barringford. "Too bad! I'd like to know who them twins belong to."