“I saw him go out the front door and start for the brush.”
“Then I’ll shore do some projeckin’ in ther brush.”
Angell went away, and soon returned with the statement that he had found the dead body of the owner of the cabin. The murdered man had been discovered at the mouth of the ravine. He had been shot a number of times. One bullet had penetrated the brain.
Buffalo Bill sighed. “I would have prevented the murder if the fiend had not surprised us. I was shot just before Holmes made for the door.”
As he spoke, the king of scouts noticed that Angell had his hand behind his back. “Found something, Bart?” he said quietly. “Trot it out.”
Angell brought to view a white handkerchief. He had found it near the body of the murdered man.
The king of scouts took the handkerchief and examined it carefully.
In one corner was a Chinese laundry mark.
“I am not a detective, Bart,” said Buffalo Bill, as he scrutinized the mark, “or I might trace this wipe to its owner.”
“It would be a hard job”—with a shake of the head—“fer ther nearest chink joint is in Denver. Hold yer horses,” he added suddenly. “I’m clean off my base. Thar’s one in Taos. It shore opened up six months ago. I war in ther town when ther chink piked in from Austin. I’ll bet a quirt ther rag came from Taos.”