"What about it?" he asked; "what happened here?"
"Him loose latigo," said Injun. "Pull 'em tight," and Injun illustrated how a man would dig his heel into the ground as he had exerted a powerful pull at a saddle-cinch. Injun leaned back as he made the imaginary pull, and the thorny branch of the bush swept his side and caught slightly in his shirt. It was all plain to Whitey now.
"Say!" he exclaimed, in undisguised admiration, "Sherlock Holmes has nothing on you! He never doped out anything better 'n that!"
Injun looked blankly at him, never having heard of Sherlock Holmes; but Whitey's manner was unmistakably complimentary, and so Injun let it go at that. Whitey was about to take the threads from the branch, but Injun stopped him. He broke the branch that held the threads from the bush, carefully peeling the bark for several inches down the stem, and put it into his quiver. Then he marked the bush and the spot so that he could easily recognize them again. Then the two boys mounted their horses and rode back over the trail toward the creek, which was rocky and shallow, and could be easily forded without swimming.
When the boys arrived at the creek, having retraced the trail without incident, although it was well past three o'clock in the afternoon, Whitey and Injun had no thought of abandoning their quest. After a consultation, they proceeded to cross to the other side of the creek and to examine the other bank in the hope that Injun's keen vision would be able to discern things that Bill and his men had missed. They followed the course of the stream down to where it emptied into the Elkhorn, a distance of perhaps a mile and a half; but, though Injun dismounted several times and scrutinized the ground carefully, there were no signs that cattle had landed anywhere along the route.
Whitey was puzzled. Arguing on the principle that "what goes up must come down," and "what goes in must come out, or stay there," Whitey said:
"If the cattle went into the creek, they must have come out somewhere; or else," he added, after a moment, "they must be in it yet."
This admitted of no discussion, and Injun did not attempt to refute it. It did not seem probable that the cattle were still in the creek, and it seemed hardly possible that the cattle could have gone into the creek, swum all the way down to the Elkhorn, and then continued down the larger stream—but there appeared to be no other alternative; and Whitey determined to investigate even such an improbable thing as that.
In one way, Whitey was in command of the expedition, and Injun readily complied with any plan of campaign that he suggested. The details of the investigation and the deductions drawn from them were in Injun's hands, and very capable hands they were, too.
Accordingly it was agreed that Injun should swim to the left bank of the Elkhorn and follow it down, while Whitey followed the right bank, keeping as nearly parallel as possible. The Elkhorn was not more than a hundred yards wide, and the two boys could call to each other easily and communicate any finds that either made. This they proceeded to do.