"Well, I swum!"
"It was a guess about their being brass-headed, though," she admitted.
"You would have made a prize sheriff, Little Brownie," declared the
guide, gazing at her admiringly. "If I'd had you to nose the trail
when I was after Red Tacy and Charlie Valdes it wouldn't have taken me
a matter of two months to get them."
"Who are they?"
"A couple of outlaws who turned things upside down in these hills some
years ago. But I got them both. They are serving terms up at Concord
now. Find anything?"
"No, sir."
The circles were steadily narrowing, though the man and the girl were
working slowly and deliberately, really covering the ground by inches,
so thorough was their search for clues of the supposed night visitors.
No spot of the size of a hand escaped the keen scrutiny of one or the
other of them. They could not have answered had they been asked what
particular thing they had hoped to find, but in some vague way each
felt that a clue to the mystery would be turned up as a result of their
search. If a person had stolen into camp under cover of the night,
wounding and stampeding the horses, it was probable that footprints or
other evidences of his presence had been left behind, a tell-tale clue
to the recent visitor.
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