"McFann was hiding away up in the big hills. What made him light out there no one knows. That looked bad on the face of it. Then this Indian scout of ours, when he happened in on Jim's camp, found that McFann was riding a horse with a broken shoe." "Looks as if we ought to bring in the half-breed, don't it?" "Wait a minute. The broken shoe isn't all. Those pieces of rope that were used to tie that man to the stakes--they were cut from a rawhide lariat." "And Jim McFann uses that kind?" "Yes." "Do you know where McFann is hanging out?" "He may have moved camp, but we can find him." The sheriff frowned. Matters were getting more complicated than he had thought possible. From the first he had entertained only one idea concerning the murder--that Fire Bear had done the work, or that some of the reckless spirits under the rebellious youth had slain in a moment of bravado. "Well, it may be that McFann and Fire Bear's crowd had throwed in together and was all mixed up in the killing," remarked the sheriff. "A John Doe warrant ought to be enough to get everybody we want." "We can get anybody that's wanted," said Lowell, "but you must remember one thing--you're dealing with people who are not used to legal procedure and who may resent wholesale arrests." "You'll take plenty of Injun police along, I suppose." "No--I'm not even going to take Plenty Buffalo. The whole police force and all the deputies you might be able to swear in in a week couldn't bring in Fire Bear if he gave the signal to the young fellows around him. We're going alone, except for those two Indians out there, who will just look after camp affairs for us." "I dunno but you're right," observed Redmond after a pause, during which he keenly scrutinized the young agent's face. "Anyway, I ain't going to let it be said that you've got more nerve than I have. Let the lead hoss go where he chooses--I'll follow the bell." "Another thing," said Lowell. "You're on an Indian reservation. These Indians have been looking to me for advice and other things in the last four years. If it comes to a point where decisive action has to be taken--" "You're the one to take it," interrupted the sheriff. "From now on it's your funeral. I don't care what methods you use, so long as I git Fire Bear, and mebbe this half-breed, behind the bars for a hearing down at White Lodge." The men walked out of the office, and the sheriff was given his mount. The Indians swung the pack-horses into line, and the men settled themselves in their saddles as they began the long, plodding journey to the blue hills in the heart of the reservation. * * * * *