earth, where,
earlier in the morning Dan's and Harney's dainty hoof prints were the
only new impressions. For nearly fifty yards had this obliterating
process been carried on, and in a dozen spots, until the road dipped
over the rounding edge and, hard and firm now, went winding down to the
flats. Here Webb, with Dade and Hay, returned, while Blake meandered on,
musing over what he had been told. "It's a government heel, not a
cowboy's," had Hay said, hopefully, of the print of that pivoting lump
of leather.

"That gives no clue to the wearer," answered Blake. "Our men often sell
their new boots, or give their old ones, to these hangers-on about the
post. So far as I'm concerned, the care with which the print has been
erased is proof to me that the major saw just what he said. Somebody
about Hay's place was mighty anxious to cover his tracks."

But a dozen "somebodies" besides the stablemen hung there at all hours
of the day, infesting the broad veranda, the barroom and stores,
striving to barter the skin of coyote, skunk or beaver, or, when they
had nothing to sell, pleading for an unearned drink. Half a dozen of
these furtive, beetle-browed, swarthy sons of the prairie lounged there
now, as the elder officers and the trader returned, while Blake went on
his way, exploring. With downcast eyes he followed the road to and
across a sandy watercourse in the low ground, and there, in two or three
places found the fresh imprint of that same bar shoe, just as described
by Webb. Then with long, swift strides he came stalking up the hill
again, passing the watchful eyes about the corral without a stop, and
only checking speed as he neared the homestead of the Hays, where, once
again, he became engrossed in studying the road and the hard pathways at
the side. Something that he saw, or fancied that he saw, perhaps a dozen
yards from the trader's gate, induced him to stop, scrutinize, turn,
and, with searching eyes, to cross diagonally the road in the direction
of the stables, then again to retrace his steps and return to the
eastward side. Just as he concluded his search, and once more went
briskly on his way, a blithe voice hailed him from an upper window, and
the radiant face and gleaming white teeth of Nanette Flower appeared
between the opening blinds. One might have said he expected both the
sight and question.

"Lost anything, Captain Blake?"

"Nothing but--a little time, Miss Flower," was the prompt reply as,
without