“Why it might be Gansett Jim,” replied Kent in a louder voice. “Though it’s rather stupid of him to pick out a bird-inhabited bush as a hiding-place.”
The lilac bush shook a little, and Gansett Jim came forth.
“He went to Carr’s Junction,” said the half-breed curtly.
“You found his trail?” asked Kent.
The other nodded. “This morning,” he said.
“Find anything else?”
“No. I kill him if I get him!” He turned and vanished over the rise of ground back of the court.
“Now what does that mean?” demanded Sedgwick in amazement.
“That is Gansett Jim’s apology for suspecting you,” explained Kent. “He is our ally now, and this is his first information. What a marvelous thing the bulldog strain in a race is! Nobody but an Indian would have kept to an almost hopeless trail as he has done.”
“The trail of the real murderer?” cried Sedgwick.