"From Trafton to the river, then, is a little more than forty miles. You cross the river and are in another State. Up and down the river, for many miles, you have heavy timber; not far inland you find several competing railroads. Now, my belief is, that after the excitement following these robberies has had time to die out, the horses are hurried over this fifty miles of country, and across the river, and kept in the timber until it is quite safe to ship them to a distant market."
"But meantime, before they are taken to the river, where are they ambushed, then?"
"Under our very noses; here in Trafton!"
Carnes stared at me in consternation.
"Old man," he said, at last, drawing a long, deep breath, "you are either insane—or inspired."
"I believe I have caught an inspiration. But time will test my idea, 'whether it be from the gods or no.' These outlaws have proven themselves cunning, and fertile of brain. Who would think of overhauling Trafton for these stolen horses? The very boldness of the proceeding insures its safety."
"I should think so. And how do you propose to carry out your search?"
"We must begin at once, trusting to our wits for ways and means. In some way we must see or know the contents of every barn, stable, granary, store-house, outbuilding, and abandoned dwelling, in and about Trafton. No man's property, be he what he may, must be held exempt."
"Do you think, then, that the stolen horses, the last haul of course, are still in Trafton?"