“Who kilt him?” cried the baron. “He couldn’t haf shoodted himselluf unt also puriet himselluf!”
“That’s a fool idea, Schnitz!” the trapper snorted.
“I knowed it iss. But uff he gone here py himselluf—— Vale, somepoty exblanadion idt to me.”
“Apparently, unless we are all off in our guesses, he came out here to bury the stuff the baron saw him have,” suggested the scout; “then some one, seeing him with it, shot him, got away with the gold, and hid the body here.”
Instead of starting off to town, Nomad began to circle round, to see what he could discover.
In a few seconds he let out a cry.
“Hyer’s er trail, Buffler!”
When the scout examined it, he found tracks somewhat larger than those they had been following. They plunged into some bushes off on the right, went on a few yards, then swung round in the direction of Blossom Range.
“Hikin’ back fer home, he was!” said the trapper. “What does yer make o’ thet, Buffler?”
“The tracks of the murderer, without a doubt. After he covered up the grave, he was in too big a hurry to thoroughly hide his tracks here; though you can see that he was trying to step softly. If he doesn’t take to rocky land, we can probably follow this until the streets of the town are at least reached. He is back there by this time, of course, if he went right along; and there can be no trailing of him in the streets.”