One by one the party filed into the tent and glanced at the tell-tale pipe. All recognized it. There was not another in any wise resembling it in the company.
"Whose pipe is it, boys?" demanded Chicot.
"Burr Wythe's!" came the reply, the voice of Nat Upshur above all others.
"But he may not have dropped it there," suggested Mitchell. "Might not Hefler have borrowed it?"
"No," declared Upshur, stepping forward. "Hefler went to bed just after dark, and I saw Wythe smoking that pipe as late as two o'clock, and he was talking with Jack Tyrrel and Paley Duplin, at the time."
"It's so—I see'd 'em, too," reluctantly added Chicot.
"I admit that it has an awkward look, but after all, though those three are absent, they may return soon and clear matters up. If he, or they, are guilty, I will not be one of those who would seek to screen them from justice; but for all that, they shall not be condemned without a chance to clear themselves. First we must find them," said the wagon-master.
"But it is nearly sunrise; we were to take up the march to-day," ventured one.
"Justice first: we must not let this brutal murder go unavenged. One day, more or less, can make but little difference to us, in the end. If Wythe did kill him, he must pay the penalty."
"But what object could he have in doing it? They were good friends, so far as I know."