“No,” replied Dr. Brady, “I didn’t notice particularly. Moosehide garments, weren’t they?”
“No. No. The boots, I mean—the revolver!”
“Yes, he did have boots. Rather queer, isn’t it? They usually wear moccasins.”
“Usually wear moccasins!” exploded Dick. “Why those were mounted police boots. They’re different. No one else wears them. And that revolver, holster and belt could have been obtained from no other person on earth except a policeman.”
“That’s strange. I wonder how he came by them?”
Dick did not answer immediately. His mind had turned to very sober thoughts. The more he dwelt upon this unusual circumstance—an Indian wearing mounted police boots and carrying a service revolver—the more he became perplexed. As they made their way back to their own party, his suspicions grew. A great fear tugged at his heart.
“Dr. Brady,” he began very soberly, “I don’t like this. I’m afraid——”
The physician turned and smiled.
“What? Still thinking about those boots? I wouldn’t worry, if I were you, Dick. The explanation is probably simple enough. The boots and revolver might have been discarded. Aren’t you troubling yourself needlessly?”
“No, I think not. You remember Corporal Rand, don’t you, the man Inspector Cameron spoke of, the one he sent up here ahead of us, and about whom he was so worried?”