At this point Jack mounted and rode west.

Contrary to his usual custom, which was to ride hard and fast, he trotted the white horse as a cowboy might have done when going out on a day's work.

Wade had to change his position to watch Belllounds, and his somber gaze followed him across the hill, down the slope, along the willow-bordered brook, and so on to the opposite side of the great valley, where Jack began to climb in the direction of Buffalo Park.
After Belllounds had disappeared and had been gone for an hour, Wade went down on the other side of the hill, found his horse where he had left him, in a thicket, and, mounting, he rode around to strike the trail upon which Belllounds had ridden.

The imprint of fresh horse tracks showed clear in the soft dust.

And the left front track had been made by a shoe crudely triangular in shape, identical with that peculiar to Wilson Moore's horse.
"Ahuh!" muttered Wade, in greeting to what he had expected to see.
"Well, Buster Jack, it's a plain trail now--damn your crooked soul!" The hunter took up that trail, and he followed it into the woods.