"Come an' have a look at her," he said. "I've not touched her. Say, it ain't any wonder she never answered your whistle last night. Must sure have happened 'fore we come ashore, else we should have heard the shot."
He led the way in among the trees beyond the outhouses. But before he had gone very far he came to an abrupt halt, and pointed.
"The far side of that clump of sage grass," he indicated. "I'm figurin' as the man that shot her stood about here. She was runnin' towards him. His bullet went in at her chest."
"Scout around an' see if you c'n find any footprints," said Kiddie, going forward to examine the dead hound.
Rube and Isa Blagg both searched, but there was no likelihood of their finding any bootmarks on the grass. Rube went back to the path leading up from the landing-place. There had been heavy rain on the previous afternoon, and the ground was still moist enough to show the faint impressions of his own and Kiddie's moccasins, and yet more distinctly the marks of Isa Blagg's heavy boots.
At sight of these he turned sharply round.
"Show me the soles of your boots, Sheriff," he asked; "both of 'em? Ah," he added, on seeing them, "you've got horseshoe heels an' toecaps, too; but only one row of hob-nails. I'm lookin' for the marks of boots with two rows, an' with a nail missin' from the inside row of the left boot. You'd best not walk about more'n you c'n help."
"Rube," said Kiddie, now coming up. "We landed from the canoe last evenin' at a quarter to seven. At what time would Abe Harum be down here?"
"'Bout four o'clock, I guess," Rube answered. "That's his usual time for lockin' up the stables an' givin' Sheila her feed. Abe told us he left the hound in her kennel. But, of course, she c'd get out if she wanted. She'd soon be out if she heard a stranger prowlin' around."
"As no doubt she did," agreed Kiddie.