“You didn’t see any indication that buckskin bags had been cached, or pitched into some hole?”
“No; but they could er been pitched inter some hole easy ’nuff, without our knowin’ it. Thar’s a lot o’ crevices along the trail; an’ without leavin’ his tracks a feller could easy ernough heave buckskin bags inter any of ’em.”
“We haven’t time to look that up, now. Show me the trail, and we’ll see what we can do.”
When the trail was regained, the scout took the lead, and pushed the work hard.
Though the country was rocky and covered with much scrub, they went along rapidly. There were few trailers who could equal Buffalo Bill. It was hard work, so that often he preferred to let his Indians do it; but he was always equal to the task, as in this instance.
There were tracks of two people—one the track of a man surely; the other smaller, which might have been made by a woman; though, if so, she had worn a coarse and heavy shoe, just fitted for that kind of work.
At length the trails split; the larger tracks going off to the right, the others to the left.
“I’ll follow the man,” said the scout; “you take the other. I fancy the man is Juniper Joe; the other may be his wife.”
It had become evident that the couple were getting tired; they had traveled rapidly, as if at first frightened, and so had begun to use up their strength. It was perhaps for that reason they separated; as they might have thought the pursuers, if they knew of them, would follow the larger tracks.
By this time Buffalo Bill and his pards were a good five miles north of the mining town of Blossom Range, and in the vicinity of a village of the Ute tribe of Indians.