Crawford quartered over the ground. "Just like I thought, Dave. Applegate and his posse have been here and stomped out any tracks the robbers left. No way of tellin' which of all these footprints belonged to them. Likely none of 'em. If I didn't know better I'd think some one had been givin' a dance here, the way the ground is cut up." They made a wide circle to try to pick up the trail wanted, and again a still larger one. Both of these attempts failed. "Looks to me like they flew away," the cattleman said at last. "Horses have got hoofs and hoofs make tracks. I see plenty of these, but I don't find any place where the animals waited while this thing was bein' pulled off." "The sheriff's posse has milled over the whole ground so thoroughly we can't be sure. But there's a point in what you say. Maybe they left their horses farther up the hill and walked back to them," Dave hazarded. "No-o, son. This job was planned careful. Now the hold-ups didn't know whether they'd have to make a quick getaway or not. They would have their horses handy, but out of sight." "Why not in the dry ditch back of the cotton woods?" asked Dave with a flash of light. Crawford stared at him, but at last shook his head, "I reckon not. In the sand and clay there the hoofs would show too plain." "What if the hold-ups knew the ditch was going to be filled before the pursuit got started?" "You mean--?" "I mean they might have arranged to have the water turned into the lateral to wipe out their tracks." "I'll be dawged if you ain't on a warm trail, son," murmured Crawford. "And if they knew that, why wouldn't they ride either up or down the ditch and leave no tracks a-tall?" "They would--for a way, anyhow. Up or down, which?" "Down, so as to reach Malapi and get into the Gusher before word came of the hold-up," guessed Crawford. "Up, because in the hills there's less chance of being seen," differed Dave. "Crooks like them can fix up an alibi when they need one. They had to get away unseen, in a hurry, and to get rid of the gold soon in case they should be seen." "You've rung the bell, son. Up it is. It's an instinct of an outlaw to make for the hills where he can hole up when in trouble." The prospector had been out of the conversation long enough. "Depends who did this," he said. "If they come from the town, they'd want to get back there in a hurry. If not, they'd steer clear of folks. Onct, when I was in Oklahoma, a nigger went into a house and shot a white man he claimed owed him money. He made his getaway, looked like, and the whole town hunted for him for fifty miles. They found him two days later in the cellar of the man he had killed." "Well, you can go look in Tim Harrigan's cellar if you've a mind to. Dave and I are goin' up the ditch," said the old cattleman, smiling.