ing her lame foot, which, of
course, she would not have the chance of doing when pushed to a trot.

Then Davie came to a halt, Elsie just behind him. There was nothing
particular, only the ground was pawed and cut about in little crescent
discs, as if a horse had got wearied standing and wanted to get on.
Then beyond that the wheel ruts were much deeper than before.

"He has talked to somebody, he has taken other passengers here," cried
Davie, "and I never heard them--fool that I was--thinking of nothing
but the Duke's silly trout in the burn yonder."

Without speaking we followed on, till the Brom Water, slow, deep, and
still, lay before us. It was strictly preserved, and we boys dared not
visit it for fear of the fishery watchers and keepers, who were up to
all sorts of tricks to catch us. Only old hands like Davie dared such
a thing, and even they chose their time.

The road went across a bridge, a high-arched, old-fashioned structure,
which I liked coming over in our light cart, because of the curious
"hunch" it gave you as if you were on a swing. And close in by the
bridge and on the near side of it, we came at last on what we had come
out to look for--the signs of a struggle, the wheel tracks confused and
partly up on the bank, the traces of many feet, very indistinct owing
to the hard, dry ground, and (what took all our eyes) a dark irregular
patch on the left side of the road, which had filled and overflowed the
deep furrow of a track.

It did not need any doctor's certificate to tell us that that was
blood, and we knew very well that we stood where poor Harry Foster had
been foully dealt with. But of the carrier himself we could see
nothing. The pony had bounded ahead at full speed, and for Davie's
sake we thought it best not to go farther. Because the people who were
coming along the Breckonside road might easily cover over the tracks or
destroy them, crowding to see.

So we went to meet the first of them at the place where Davie Elshiner
had wished his benefactor a good morning and jumped on the bank, with
the last jest on his lips. We were just in time. Codling, our fat
policeman, was there, and he took up Davie on the spot, warning him
that all he might say would be used against him.

"I don't care," said Davie. "I will tell all I know, and that's little
enough--more shame to me for going after trouts with poor Harry so near
his end."

The village men scattered to search the wood and the