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Page 47
He flung out of saddle and strode alongside the cutter. "About two hours
ago--'not more, I'll swear--I pulled out to take a ride around the
cattle--like I usually do, every day. I left the beggar busy enough,
bucking fire-wood. I wasn't away much over an hour, but when I got back
I found he'd drifted--couldn't locate him anywhere.
"Then I remembered I'd left some money lying around--inside the drawer of
a bureau in my bedroom--'bout a hundred, I guess--in one of these
black-leather bill-folders. Sure enough, it's gone, too. Damnation!"
He leaned up against the cutter and mopped his streaming forehead. "I
was a fool to ever attempt to help a man like that out," he concluded
bitterly. "It serves me right!"
"Well," said Slavin, with an oath, "th' shtiff cannot have got far-away
in that toime. I want um as bad as yuh, Mr. Gully. We were on th' way
tu yu're place for um. See here; luk!"
Gully heard him out and whistled softly at the conclusion of the
narrative. "Once collar this man, Sergeant," said he, "and--you've
practically got your case. Make him talk?"--the low, guttural laugh was
not good to hear--"Oh, yes! . . . I think between us we could accomplish
that all right! . . . Yes-s!"
His voice died away in a murmur, a cruel glint flickered in his shadowy
eyes, and for a space he remained with folded arms and his head sunk in a
sort of brooding reverie. Suddenly, with an effort, he seemed to arouse
himself. "Oh, about that inquest, Sergeant," he queried casually, "what
was the jury's finding? I was forgetting all about that."
"Eyah; on'y fwhat yuh might expect," replied the latter. "Death by
shootin', at th' hand av some person unknown. I wired headquarthers
right-away." He made a slightly impatient movement. "Well, we must get
busy, Mr. Gully; this shtiff connot be far away. Not bein' on th'
thrail, betune us an' yu', means he's either beat ut shtraight south from
yu're place an' over th' ice tu th' railway-thrack, or west a piece, an'
thin onto th' thrack. Yu'll niver find a hobo far away from th' line.
He'd niver go thrapsein' thru' th' snow tu th' high ground beyant. Yuh
cud shpot him plain for miles--doin' that--comin' along."
"He's wearing old, worn-out boots," said Yorke, "got awful big feet, too,
I remember. Of course this trail's too beaten up from end to end to be
able to get a line on foot-prints. We might work slowly back to your
place, though, Mr. Gully, and keep a lookout for any place where he may
have struck south off the trail, as the Sergeant says."
It seemed the only thing to do. The party moved leisurely forward, Gully
riding ahead of the cutter, Yorke and Redmond in its wake, as before,
well-spread out on either side of the well-worn trail. Here, the snow
was practically undisturbed, affording them every opportunity of
discovering fresh foot-prints debouching from the main trail. It was
rather exacting, monotonous work, necessitating cautious and leisurely
progress; but they stuck to it doggedly until sometime later they rounded
a bend in the river and came within sight of Gully's ranch, about a mile
distant.
Presently that gentleman pulled up and swung out of saddle. "Half a
minute," he said, "my saddle's slipping! I want to tighten my cinch."
The small cavalcade halted. Slavin's restless eyes roving over the
expanse of unbroken snow on his left hand, suddenly dilated, and he
uttered an eager exclamation, pointing downwards with outflung arm.
"Ah," said he grimly, "here we are, I'm thinkin'!" And he clambered
hastily out of the cutter.
Yorke and Redmond, dismounting swiftly, stepped forward with him and
examined minutely the unmistakably fresh imprints of large-sized feet
angling off from the trail towards the bank of the frozen river.
"Hob-nailed boots!" ejaculated Yorke. "Guess that must be him, all
right, Mr. Gully?"
The latter bent and scrutinized the imprints. "Sure must be," he
rejoined, with conviction. "A man walking out on the range is a
curiosity. I can't think how I could have missed them--coming along.
But I guess I was so mad, and in such a devil of a hurry I didn't notice
much. I made sure of catching up to him somewhere on the trail."
Slavin beckoned to Redmond and, much to that young gentleman's chagrin,
bade him hold the lines of the restless team, while he (Slavin), along
with Yorke and Gully, started forwards trailing the footprints. Arriving
at the river's edge they slid down the bank and followed the tracks over
the snow-covered ice to the centre of the river. Here was open water for
some distance; the powerful current at this point keeping open a ten-foot
wide steaming fissure. The tracks hugged its edge to a point about four
hundred yards westward, where the fissure closed up again and enabled
them to cross to the opposite bank. Clambering up this their quest led
them across a long stretch of comparatively level ground to the fenced-in
railway-track.
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