s he'd have his
eyes only on what he was firing at. Suppose he missed, and your beast
happened to be in line with him?"

Flora smiled.

"It's not convincing, Mr. Flett. Seen from here, the bull would be in
the open, conspicuous against white grass and sand."

"I didn't say the thing was likely. Won't you go on, Mr. Lansing?"

"The other explanation is that the fellow meant to kill or mark the
bull; the place where it was hit points to the former. If that was his
intention, he'd lie down or kneel to get a steadier aim. We had better
look for the spot."

They spent some time before Flett thought he had found it.

"Somebody lay down here, and the bull would be up against a background
of poplar scrub," he said. "I'll measure off the distance and make a
plan."

He counted his paces, and had set to work with his notebook, when Flora
interrupted.

"Wouldn't a sketch be better? Give me a sheet of paper; and has
anybody another pencil?"

George gave her one, and after walking up and down and standing for a
few moments on a low mound, she chose a position and began the sketch.
It was soon finished, but it depicted the scene with distinctness, with
the bull standing in the open a little to one side of the clump of
scrub. George started as he saw that she had roughly indicated the
figure of a man lying upon the little mound with a rifle in his hand.
It struck him that she was right.

"It's a picture," said the constable; "but why did you put that fellow
yonder?"

"Come and see."

They followed her to the mound, and after an inspection of it, Flett
nodded.

"You'd make a mighty smart tracker, Miss Grant. I was against this
mound being the firing place, because, to get to it, the fellow would
have to come out into the open."

"Would that count? It was a bull he was after."

"It was," Flett agreed. "This fixes the thing."

George looked at him meaningly.

"Have you made up your mind about anything else?"

"Oh, yes," said Flett. "It was done with malicious mischief. If a
poor white or an Indian meant to kill a beast for meat, he wouldn't
pick a bull worth a pile of money, at least while there was common beef
stock about."

"Then what do you mean to do?"

Flett smiled.

"Sooner or later, I'm going to put handcuffs on the man who did this
thing. If you'll give me the sketch, Miss Grant, I'll take it along."

Flora handed it to him, and he and Edgar went away shortly afterward,
leaving George