e should be. He put his
hand on Diablo's headgear, and bringing it down carried it through the
passage to a stable door where he examined it minutely.

"Jest what I tought. Look at that," and he handed it to Carter for
inspection. "How do ye size that up, Ned?"

"The rein's been cut near through," replied Carter. "I wonder it held as
long as it did."

"A dirty, low-down trick," commented Mike. "I'll hang it back on the peg
just now, but don't use it again fer a bit."

As he reentered the saddle room briskly his heel slipped on the plank
floor, bringing him down. "I'd take me oath that was a banana peel,
if it was on the sidewalk," he exclaimed, after a gymnastic twist that
nearly dislocated his neck. "Some of ye fellows is pretty careless wit'
hoof grease, I'm thinkin'."

More out of curiosity than anything else he peered down at the cause of
his sudden slip. "What the divil is it, onyway?" he muttered, kneeling
and lighting a match, which he held close to the spot. "Bot' t'umbs!" he
exclaimed, "it's candle grease. Have aither of ye b'ys been in here wit'
a candle? It's agin the rules."

"There isn't a candle about the barn, an' you know it, Mike," cried
Carter, indignantly.

Mike was prospecting the floor with another light.

"Here's two burnt matches," he continued, picking them up. "An' they
were loighted last night, too. See that, they're long, an' that means
that they wasn't used for lightin' a pipe or a cigar--jes' fer touchin'
off a candle, that's all. I know they was loighted last night," he
said, as though to convince himself, "fer they're fresh, an' ain't been
tramped on. If they'd been here fer two or three days, roight in front
of the door, they'd have the black knocked off 'em wid ye boys' feet.
This wan didn't light at all hardly, an' there's a little wool fuzz
stickin' to it. Gee! that manes some wan sthruck it on his wool pants.
Git the lantern, Ned, p'raps we'll fin' out somethin' more. The light
from that high up winder ain't good enough fer trackin' a bear."

When the lantern was brought, Mike continued his detective operations,
nose and eyes close to the floor, like a black tracker.

"What's that, Ned?" he asked, pointing his finger at a dark brown spot
on the boards.

Carter crouched and scrutinized Mike's find. "Tobacco spit," and he gave
a little laugh.

"Roight you are; that's what it is. Now who chaws tobaccie in this
stable?" he demanded of Carter, with the air of a cross-examini