hing more to detain the men that were waiting.
The cowboy worst wounded had started with a companion for home. The
Snipe insisted on going on with Doubleday.

The horses had been left in good grass a little way down the creek.
When they were disturbed it was found that one was missing. A hurried
search failed to recover the horse.

While trackers were at work, the Snipe, always alert, found a clue that
upset all calculations. It was a small dark red spot soaked into the
dust of the creek trail. It was very small, such as might have been
made by a single drop of blood; but one such sign was enough to put on
inquiry a man versed like the Snipe in mountain craft. Keeping his
discovery to himself, he tracked back and forth from his single spot,
almost invisible in the dust, until he found a second similar spot.
This he marked, and dodging and circling, like a hound on a scent, the
Snipe ran his trail from his first tiny spot to the trees near the
creek where the horses had been left. Doubling, he patiently tracked
the telltale spots up the path that led to the cabin. Then he called
to Barb.

Doubleday, much out of temper, was in the saddle waiting to get
started. He bawled at the Snipe, and not amiably.

"Keep cool," was the answer; "I'm 'a' comin'. But look here before you
start; there was two men in that cabin, Barb."

"What are you givin' us?" blurted out a cowboy. Doubleday stared
ferociously. "There was two of 'em, boys," persisted the Snipe.

"You must 'a' seen double when you was runnin'," was the skeptical
suggestion of another man. But Doubleday listened.

The Snipe took him from the cabin down to the creek. Then back to the
cabin. There he showed him where someone had dug what might have been
a hole under the sill log, near the door.

A horse was certainly missing. Then, shells from two different rifles
were picked out of the ashes. One size had been fired from a
Winchester rifle; the others, much more numerous, belonged to a Marlin.

"Who was it, Barney?" asked Doubleday, breathing heavily. He was so
wrought up and so hoarse he could hardly frame the words. But he was
already convinced.

The Snipe shook his head. "There's two or three fellows up here shoots
a Marlin rifle. If I got one guess on this man that's made his
get-away, Barb, I'd say----" The Snipe poked further into the ashes.

"Well, say!" thundered Doubleday.

"I'd say it was Abe Hawk."

CHAPTER XVII

VAN H