lical glee, spitting at him as he
passed.

"Did no one enter?" asked Cameron.

"Not a soul."

"Nor go out?"

"No one except the old squaw here. I saw her go out with a pack."

"With a pack!" echoed Cameron. And the two men stood looking at each
other. "By Jove!" said Cameron in deep disgust, "We're done. He is
rightly named Copperhead. Quick!" he cried, "Let us search this camp,
though it's not much use."

And so indeed it proved. Through every teepee they searched in hot
haste, tumbling out squalling squaws and papooses. But all in vain.
Copperhead had as completely disappeared as if he had vanished into thin
air. With faces stolid and unmoved by a single gleam of satisfaction the
Indians watched their hurried search.

"We will take a turn around this camp," said Cameron, swinging on to his
pony. "You hear me!" he continued, riding up close to Trotting Wolf, "We
haven't got our man but we will come back again. And listen carefully!
If I lose a single steer this fall I shall come and take you, Trotting
Wolf, to the Fort, if I have to bring you by the hair of the head."

But Trotting Wolf only shrugged his shoulders, saying:

"No see cow."

"Is there any use taking a look around this camp?" said the Inspector.

"What else can we do?" said Cameron. "We might as well. There is a faint
chance we might come across a trace."

But no trace did they find, though they spent an hour and more in close
and minute scrutiny of the ground about the camp and the trails leading
out from it.

"Where now?" inquired the Inspector.

"Home for me," said Cameron. "To-morrow to Calgary. Next week I take up
this trail. You may as well come along with me, Inspector. We can talk
things over as we go."

They were a silent and chagrined pair as they rode out from the Reserve
toward the ranch. As they were climbing from the valley to the plateau
above they came to a soft bit of ground. Here Cameron suddenly drew rein
with a warning cry, and, flinging himself off his broncho, was upon his
knee examining a fresh track.

"A pony-track, by all that's holy! And within an hour. It is our man,"
he cried, examining the trail carefully and following it up the hill and
out on to the plateau. "It is our man sure enough, and he is taking this
trail."

For some miles the pony-tracks were visible enough. There was no attempt
to cover them. The rider was evidently pushing hard.

"Where do you think he is heading for, Inspector?"

"Well,"