He leaves
orders that these fellers behind are t' comb the country till he calls
'em off. Yesterday mornin', in the thick uh the storm, a buck trooper
arrives from Walsh, bearin' instructions for Goodell, Hicks an' another
feller, which I reckon is Bevans. So when she clears up a little along
towards noon, these three takes a packadero layout an' starts,
presumable for Medicine Lodge. An' that's all I found out from the
Policemen."
"Scattered them around the country, eh?" Mac commented. "Damn it, we're
just as far behind as ever."
"Hold your hosses a minute," Piegan grinned knowingly. "I said that was
all I found out from the red jackets--but I did a little prognosticatin'
on my own hook. I figured that if them fellers hit the trail yesterday
afternoon as soon as the storm let up, they'd make one hell of a good
plain track in this sloppy goin' an' I was curious t' see if they lit
straight for the Lodge. So when the bunch got out quite a ways, I quits
the camp an' swings round in a wide circle--an' sure enough they'd left
their mark. Three riders an' two pack-hosses. Easy trackin'? Well, I
should say! They'd cut a trail in them doby flats like a bunch uh
gallopin' buffalo. Say, where _is_ Medicine Lodge?"
"Oh, break away, Piegan," Mac impatiently exclaimed.
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