shot, and that screech after it. What have you found now, Donald?”
“The plain imprint of a moccasin,” came from the other boy. “Looks like this is where he jumped to his feet after that shot came that winged him, for you can see that it heads back and away from our camp. Yes, and here are specks of dried blood on this rock.”
“Yes, and notice the smartness of them, would you, creeping up to leeward of our camp, so the horses couldn’t scent them?” Adrian went on to say. “You ought to know the mark of a moccasin pretty well, Donald; how about this one?”
“Made by an Apache squaw, for a cooky, I’d take my affidavy on that,” the ranchman’s son decided, after minutely examining the imprint; for different tribes have their own way of making elk-skin foot gear, so that it is not a difficult task, under ordinary circumstances, to recognize these peculiar characteristics.
A minute later and they stood on the spot where, according to Donald, the wounded brave had managed to straddle a pony, and make off with his friends.
“Just three of them, and all young bucks,” Donald decided, after he had carefully inspected the marks around them.
With that amount of knowledge they had to rest content; because it would have been foolish to think
of following the would-be horse thieves, even had they not promised Billie not to go outside of sight of the tent.
Accordingly they turned back, and arrived at the camp just as the cook was getting his lips pursed up so as to give vent to a loud “cooee,” that was to serve as notice that breakfast was awaiting their attention; and how any mortal boy could linger after that, Billie would never be able to understand, judging others by his own standard.
After they had done full justice to the meal, they saddled up, and having placed the pack on the treacherous Bray, despite his serious objections and swelling of his body to prevent the bands from meeting, they again took up the line of march.