k and forth. He hesitated once on
the trail of the horse he had followed, stopped and looked at Swan
inquiringly, and whined. Swan whistled the dog to him with a peculiar,
birdlike note and called to Lone.

"You come back, Lone, and let Yack take a damn good smell of you. By
golly, if that dog lies to me this time, I lick him good!"

Lone came back, grinning a little. "All right, now maybe you'll listen
to reason. I ain't the kind to tell all I know and some besides, Swan.
I've been a Sawtooth man, and a fellow kinda hates to throw down his
outfit deliberate. But they're going too strong for any white man to
stand for. I quit them when they tried to get Brit Hunter. I don't
_know_ so much, Swan, but I'm pretty good at guessing. So if you'll
come with me to Whisper, your dog may show yuh who owns that
handkerchief. If he don't, then I'm making a mistake, and I'd like to be
set right."

"Somebody rode that horse," Swan meditated aloud. "Yack don't make a
mistake like that, and I don't think I'm blind. Where's the man that was
on the horse? What you think, Lone?"

"_Me_? I think there was another horse somewhere close to that
outcropping, tied to a bush, maybe. I think the man you're after changed
horses there, just on a chance that somebody might trail him from the
road. You put your dog on the trail of that one particular horse, and he
showed yuh where it was feeding with the bunch. It looks to me like it
was turned loose, back there, and come on alone. Your man went to
Whisper; I'll bank money on that. Anyway, your dog'll know if he's been
there."

Swan thought it over, his eyes moving here and there to every hint of
movement between the skyline and himself. Suddenly he turned to Lone,
his face flushing with honest shame.

"Loney, take a damn Swede and give him something he believes, and you
could pull his teeth before you pull that notion from his thick head.
You acted funny, that day Fred Thurman was killed, and you gave yourself
away at the stable when I showed you that saddle. So I think you're the
killer, and I keep on thinking that, and I've been trying to catch you
with evidence. I'm a Swede, all right! Square head. Built of wood two
inches thick. Loney, you kick me good. You don't have time to ride over
here, get some other horse and ride back to the Quirt after Frank was
killed. You got there before I did, last night. We know Frank was dead
not much more than one hour when we get him to the bunk-house. Y