Bracing himself for a new investigation, he started off upon the cattle-track, trodden by the horses of Spangler and his party.
To the hoof-marks of these he paid but slight attention; at times, none whatever. His eye only sought those of Henry Poindexter’s horse. Though the others were of an after time, and often destroyed the traces he was most anxious to examine, he had no difficulty in identifying the latter. As he would have himself said, any greenhorn could do that. The young planter’s horse had gone over the ground at a gallop. The trackers had ridden slowly.
As far as Zeb Stump could perceive, the latter had made neither halt nor deviation. The former had.
It was about three-quarters of a mile from the edge of the venue.
It was not a halt the galloping horse had made, but only a slight departure from his direct course; as if something he had seen—wolf, jaguar, cougar, or other beast of prey—had caused him to shy.
Beyond he had continued his career; rapid and reckless as ever.
Beyond the party along with Spangler had proceeded—without staying to inquire why the horse had shied from his track.
Zeb Stump was more inquisitive, and paused upon this spot.
It was a sterile tract, without herbage, and covered with shingle and sand. A huge tree overshadowed it, with limbs extending horizontally. One of these ran transversely to the path over which the horses had passed—so low that a horseman, to shun contact with it, would have to lower his head. At this branch Zeb Stump stood gazing. He observed an abrasion upon the bark; that, though very slight, must have been caused by contact with some substance, as hard, if not sounder, than itself.
“Thet’s been done by the skull o’ a human critter,” reasoned he—“a human critter, that must a been on the back o’ a hoss—this side the branch, an off on the t’other. No livin’ man ked a stud sech a cullizyun as thet, an kep his seat i’ the seddle.