“Heard him howl?”
“Aye, sir,—just like a wild wolf.”
“No doubt was a wolf. That explains it all.”
“But the lariat on one o’ the horses was cut with a knife, Cap’n,” observed Bill Brown, choking back his anger. “Come, I’ll show you.”
“I’ve lost enough sleep now,” objected the Captain, stalking off toward his waiting blanket. “Maybe the wolf bit the lariat in two. I understand that the beasts have teeth of extraordinary sharpness. Post fresh guards and get this camp settled down again. And be lively about it.”
When morning came, and while the troopers were getting ready to break camp, Bill Brown quietly took the keen-eyed Pottawattomee, Bright Star, and the two Gordons to the edge of the camp area.
“I want to look fer tracks,” he told the young brave.
For a moment or two Bright Star moved about at random, for all the world like a beagle-hound on a rabbit trail, head bent low and eyes fixed to the ground. Then he suddenly set off, straight toward the west.
“Indian,” he said, pointing to a faint print, “one Indian.”
“By cracky,” said Bill Brown, “I should get Van Alstyne an’ rub his long nose in it.”