“Erbout big ernough fer a grizzly,” said Nomad, “an’ ther feller thet made ’em shore shuffled along jest like a b’ar; yit I reckon ’et war a man, ’count o’ ther shoes. I never yit heerd thet b’ars war addicted ter ther shoe habit.” The tracks were large, showing they had been made by shoes of the biggest size. As the trapper stated, the wearer had progressed with a shuffling movement, as was to be told by the fact that where the ground was soft the tracks were long-drawn, indicating that the feet had slid along, instead of being well lifted. “Der kvestion vot me unt Nomat haf peen asking,” said the baron, “iss, Dit he haf der vomans?” “We couldn’t tell, Buffler; fer, ye see, though them tracks sink purty deep, it may be bercause ther feller was a purty good weight hisself; ther size o’ them feet indercates a big man.” “We’ll see if we can pick up the trail of the woman,” said the scout. “That is, if she left the stage at this point, and not before it reached here. It seems to me, though, that she could not have got out of the stage, the way it was tearing along, until it made its stop right here.” “What would she want ter leave it fer?” asked Nomad. “She iss Vera Bright,” said the baron. “By which the baron means, I judge,” the scout explained, “that she has been little better at times than a comrade and friend of outlaws, and perhaps is not to be trusted to do the honest thing in this case.” “Vot I am t’inking iss dot perhabs she ditn’t vant to seen you, Cody. She might haf a reasons.” The scout was searching for tracks of the woman. Soon he found them--off on the right; small tracks, going in the same direction of the large ones. “Now, which were made first,” he asked, “the woman’s, or the tracks of the big feet? You can see that both are fresh.” “Idt gidts me,” the baron confessed. “Likewise, hyer,” said Nomad. “Was she follerin’ ther man, er was he follerin’ her; er was they travelin’ independent? Ther only way ter find out is ter overtake ’em, I reckon.” The horses had been released from the tangled harness, and the disgusted stage driver was tying them to some trees. Wild Bill walked over to the place where Buffalo Bill and his pards were discussing the trails. “I’ve been hearing your talk,” he said. “And I judge you’re up in the air.” The scout admitted it. “What you going to do?” “Follow these trails, and see what became of the woman first. Then try to pick up the trail left by Tim Benson. I suppose there is no doubt the fellow was Benson?” “Miss Vera Bright declared he was Benson.” “Budt can she pe trusdted?” asked Schnitzenhauser. “I think so, in that,” Wild Bill told him. “She was scared, and she seemed to be speaking the truth. Yet I can’t understand why she left the stage here, unless the jolt she got when the stage hit that rock unsettled her mind a bit.” Buffalo Bill followed along the trail of the woman. “It’s a thing we’ve got to find out,” he said. CHAPTER XXIV.