They had marked the strange sight of the son of Bill Belllounds, gliding along that trail where Moore had met Columbine, sneaking and stooping, at last with many a covert glance about, to kneel in the trail and compare the horse tracks there with horseshoes he took from his pocket.

That alone made Bent Wade eternally vigilant.

He kept his counsel.

He worked more swiftly, so that he might have leisure for his peculiar seeking.

He spent an hour each night with the cowboys, listening to their recounting of the day and to their homely and shrewd opinions.