After a short examination, he observed a trail altogether distinct, and of a different character. It was a well-marked path entering the opening on one side, and going out on the other: in short, a cattle-track.
Zeb saw that several shod horses had passed along it, some days before: and it was this that caused him to come back and examine it.
He could tell to a day—to an hour—when the horses had passed; and from the sign itself. But the exercise of his ingenuity was not needed on this occasion. He knew that the hoof-prints were those of the horses ridden by Spangler and his party—after being detached from the main body of searchers who had gone home with the major.
He had heard the whole story of that collateral investigation—how Spangler and his comrades had traced Henry Poindexter’s horse to the place where the negro had caught it—on the outskirts of the plantation.
To an ordinary intellect this might have appeared satisfactory. Nothing more could be learnt by any one going over the ground again.
Zeb Stump did not seem to think so. As he stood looking along it, his attitude showed indecision.
“If I ked make shur o’ havin’ time,” he muttered, “I’d foller it fust. Jest as like as not I’ll find a fluke thur too. But thur’s no sartinty ’beout the time, an I’d better purceed to settle wi’ the anymal as cast the quarter shoe.”
He had turned to go out of the glade, when a thought once more stayed him.
“Arter all, it kin be eezy foun’ at any time. I kin guess whar it’ll lead, as sartint, as if I’d rud ’longside the skunk thet made it—straight custrut to the stable o’ Caser Corver.
“It’s a durned pity to drop this un,—now whiles I’m hyur upon the spot. It’ll gie me the makin’ o’ another ten-mile jurney, an thur moutn’t be time. Dog-goned ef I don’t try a leetle way along it. The ole maar kin wait till I kum back.”