"It's 'bout half-past five now. That makes it ten or eleven when he was brought in."
"'Bout dat. Feller lead heem een. Hard to read de sign on de grass, but eet look lak de feller not walk good een hees boot—dey too beeg, mabbeso. Come 'long. We weel see w'ere feller she leave hees hoss."
They followed the trail a hundred yards, and then Laguerre knelt down, his eyes searching the grass. He picked up a small stone and held it up. The stone was sharp-cornered. It was stained a dark red.
"Feller she treep un fall on hees han's un knees," explained Laguerre. "Lef han' heet de leetle rock, un geet cut some. Han' bleed on eet."
Laguerre rose, tossed away the stone, and proceeded to follow the trail. He led the way to a tall pine some three hundred yards distant from the ranch house. Even Loudon's unpractised eyes told him that a horse had stood beneath the pine.
"Here feller she climb een de saddle un go 'way," said Laguerre. "No use follow de trail any more."
They returned to the ranch house, Loudon wondering greatly as to the identity of the mysterious philanthropist. In Cow Land a stolen horse is not returned except under compulsion. While they were at dinner the cook stuck his head through the doorway.
"Bunch o' riders a-comin' from the north," he announced, "an' they're a-comin' some swift."
"Scotty!" exclaimed Loudon, and ran to the window.
"It may be the sheriff," said Jack Richie, hastening to provide himself with a Winchester.