Their nearest way to the cabin was past the front of the stables. Rube Carter limped forward in advance of his two companions, searching the ground as he went. Suddenly he came to a halt.
"Hallo!" he cried. "Come an' look here, Kiddie. What d'you make of this?"
He was staring down at the marks of a horse's shoes, mingled with the impressions of a man's hob-nailed boots.
"Looks like the tracks of your big horse Regent, don't it?" he questioned. "An' the bootmarks are the same's the one near the canoe."
Kiddie did not wait to make conjectures. He strode quickly towards the stables. Before he reached the building he saw that the stable door was open. He went within. His favourite English hunter, Regent, was not there. Its stall was empty.
"Stolen!" he exclaimed. "Rube—Isa, d'ye see? Regent's been stolen!"
"Then we'll sure catch him, whoever he is," said Rube. "He won't ride many miles without Regent bein' seen an' recognized by somebody that knows that hoss is yours."
"Any suspicion who it is?" asked the sheriff.
"What's your own idea, Isa?" Kiddie inquired.
"Well," returned Isa, "seems ter me thar was more'n one of 'em at this yer job. I'm tryin' t' identify th' owner of them boots. I've got a notion; but I ain't goin' ter jump at no rash conclusions this time. Come an' have a look at that broken winder."