"No," he answered. "I'm just more puzzled than ever. Can't straighten it out nohow. Can't think who it could be, or why he did it. Thar's only one thing t' be said, Kiddie, an' that's this: the man as tried ter take your life was either a Injun wearin' white man's boots, or else a white man usin' a Injun's bow an' arrow. Beyond that, I'm makin' up my mind ter look out fer a individual—red or white—goin' around with his left arm in a sling."
"Don't hold too tight t' th' idea that it was in the arm he was bitten—" Kiddie cautioned. "Sheila might have seized on any other part of his anatomy. My own notion is that the hound herself will spot him sooner'n you or I could do."
"Thar's a lot in that notion," Rube acknowledged. "Guess I'll keep my eye on the hound all the time. An' when I sees her bristles rise an' her teeth showin' an' hears a growl rumblin' up from her throat, I shall sure know that the skunk ain't a far way off."
CHAPTER VII
RUBE CARTER'S VISITOR
"Hullo!"
Rube Carter was studying the architect's plan of Kiddie's woodland cabin. The portable sections of the building were all precisely numbered; but they were nevertheless perplexing, and he wanted, above all things, to avoid mistakes.
Usually when in doubt he could apply for an explanation to Kiddie himself, but on this particular day Kiddie was absent on duty with the Pony Express, and Rube had to puzzle out the difficulty unhelped. He had one of the elevation plans spread out in front of him on the working bench, and was trying to ascertain the exact position of a window casement, when a moving shadow crossed the sheet of paper.
He had not heard any one approaching. The only sounds he had been conscious of were the mumbling of his pet bear cub lying beside him chained to a log, busily licking the inside of an empty honey jar, and the regular strokes of the woodman's axe as Abe Harum worked at the felling of a pine tree some distance away. The shadow came from behind him and stopped on the sunlit expanse of paper.