resumed, half-way down the slope Dale's sharp eyes
caught a broad track where shod horses had passed, climbing in a long
slant toward the promontory. He dismounted to examine it, and John,
coming up, proceeded with alacrity to get off and do likewise. Dale made
his deductions, after which he stood in a brown study beside his horse,
waiting for John.

"Wal, what 'd you make of these here tracks?" asked that worthy.

"Some horses an' a pony went along here yesterday, an' to-day a single
horse made, that fresh track."

"Wal, Milt, for a hunter you ain't so bad at hoss tracks," observed
John, "But how many hosses went yesterday?"

"I couldn't make out--several--maybe four or five."

"Six hosses an' a colt or little mustang, unshod, to be strict-correct.
Wal, supposin' they did. What 's it mean to us?"

"I don't know as I'd thought anythin' unusual, if it hadn't been for
that smoke we saw off the rim, an' then this here fresh track made along
to-day. Looks queer to me."

"Wish Roy was here," replied John, scratching his head. "Milt, I've a
hunch, if he was, he'd foller them tracks."

"Maybe. But we haven't time for that. We can backtrail them, though, if
they keep clear as they are here. An' we'll not lose any time, either."

That broad track led straight toward Pine, down to the edge of the
cedars, where, amid some jagged rocks, evidences showed that men had
camped there for days. Here it ended as a broad trail. But from the
north came the single fresh track made that very day, and from the east,
more in a line with Pine, came two tracks made the day before. And these
were imprints of big and little hoofs. Manifestly these interested John
more than they did Dale, who had to wait for his companion.

"Milt, it ain't a colt's--thet little track," avowed John.

"Why not--an' what if it isn't?" queried Dale.

"Wal, it ain't, because a colt always straggles back, an' from one
side to t'other. This little track keeps close to the big one. An', by
George! it was made by a led mustang."

John resembled Roy Beeman then with that leaping, intent fire in his
gray eyes. Dale's reply was to spur his horse into a trot and call
sharply to the lagging cougar.

When they turned into the broad, blossom-bordered road that was the
only thoroughfare of Pine the sun was setting red and gold behind the
mountains. The horses were too tired for any more than a walk. Natives
of the village, catching sight of Dale and Beeman, and the h