"Yep. Soon as the wagon gets here with the trappings. After breakfast we'll look around a bit. Been some of them through here to-day, I see."
"Yes, how did you know that!" questioned Tad.
"We crossed the trail just at the edge of the camp here when we came in. Didn't you see them?"
"We saw one of them and the tracks of the rest——"
"Yes, we—we—we saw the white horse——"
"The Angel?" demanded Bud, interested at once.
"I don't know whether you'd call it an angel or not. It struck me that it was quite the opposite," laughed Tad. "It was a white stallion, and when I got in its way it just bowled me over and rolled me down the hill——"
"The white stallion, fellows," nodded Bud. "I told you so. Come along, kiddie, and show me that trail. I'll tell you in a minute if he's the one."
Tad took the horse-hunter to the trail that he had followed up the mountain side. Bud lighted match after match, by the light of which he ran over the confusion of hoofprints. Finally he paused over one particular spot, and with a frown peered down upon it.
"That's him. That's the Angel," he emphasized.