orses--black Jim?"
Hardwick inquired, after they had rung the bell, thumped on the door,
and called, to make sure the master had not returned during
MacPherson's absence.

"I don't know--really, I don't know. He might have a room over the
stable," MacPherson suggested.

But the stable proved to be a one-story affair, and they were just
turning to leave when a stamping sound within arrested their notice.

"Good God!--what's that?" ejaculated MacPherson, whose nerves were
quivering.

"It's the horse," answered Hardwick in a relieved tone. "Stoddard's got
back--"

"Of course," broke in old MacPherson, quickly, "and gone over to Mrs.
Gandish's for some supper. That is why he wasn't in the house."

To make assurance doubly sure, they opened the unlocked stable door, and
MacPherson struck a match. The roan turned and whinnied hungrily at
sight of them.

"That's funny," said Hardwick, scarcely above his breath. "It looks to
me as though that animal hadn't been fed."

In the flare of the match MacPherson had descried the stable lantern
hanging on the wall. They lit this and examined the stall. There was no
feed in the box, no hay in the manger. The saddle was on Gray Stoddard's
horse; the bit in his mouth; he was tied by the reins to his stall ring.
The two men looked at each other with lengthening faces.

"Stoddard's too good a horseman to have done that," spoke Hardwick
slowly.

"And too kind a man," supplied MacPherson loyally. "He'd have seen to
the beast's hunger before he satisfied his own."

As the Scotchman spoke he was picking up the horse's hoofs, and digging
at them with a bit of stick.

"They're as clean as if they'd just been washed," he said, as he
straightened up. "By Heaven! I have it, Hardwick--that fellow came into
town with his hoofs muffled."

The younger man looked also, and assented mutely, then suggested:

"He hasn't come far; there's not a hair turned on him."

The Scotchman shook his head. "I'm not sure of that," he debated.
"Likely he's been led, and that slowly. God--this is horrible!"

Mechanically Hardwick got some hay down for the horse, while MacPherson
pulled off the saddle and bridle, examining both in the process. Grain
was poured into the box, and then water offered.

"He won't drink," murmured the Scotchman. "D'ye see, Hardwick? He won't
drink. You can't come into Cottonville without crossing a stream. This
fellow's hoofs have been wet within an hour--yes, within the hal