“We’ll see if we can pick up the trail of the woman,” said the scout. “That is, if she left the stage at this point, and not before it reached here. It seems to me, though, that she could not have got out of the stage, the way it was tearing along, until it made its stop right here.”
“What would she want ter leave it fer?” asked Nomad.
“She iss Vera Bright,” said the baron.
“By which the baron means, I judge,” the scout explained, “that she has been little better at times than a comrade and friend of outlaws, and perhaps is not to be trusted to do the honest thing in this case.”
“Vot I am t’inking iss dot perhabs she ditn’t vant to seen you, Cody. She might haf a reasons.”
The scout was searching for tracks of the woman.
Soon he found them—off on the right; small tracks, going in the same direction of the large ones.
“Now, which were made first,” he asked, “the woman’s, or the tracks of the big feet? You can see that both are fresh.”
“Idt gidts me,” the baron confessed.
“Likewise, hyer,” said Nomad. “Was she follerin’ ther man, er was he follerin’ her; er was they travelin’ independent? Ther only way ter find out is ter overtake ’em, I reckon.”