"It is our man sure enough, and he is taking this trail." For some miles the pony-tracks were visible enough.

There was no attempt to cover them.

The rider was evidently pushing hard.
"Where do you think he is heading for, Inspector ?" "Well," said the Inspector, "this trail strikes toward the Blackfoot Reserve by way of your ranch." "My ranch!" cried Cameron.

"My God! Look there!" As he spoke the ginger-colored broncho leaped into a gallop.

Five miles away a thin column of smoke could be seen rising up into the air.