Some miles to the right a gray escarpment of rock cropped out of the slope, forming a promontory; and from it a thin, pale column of smoke curled upward to be lost from sight as soon as it had no background of green. “Thet's your smoke, shore enough,” replied John, thoughtfully. “Now, I jest wonder who's campin' there. No water near or grass for hosses.” “John, that point's been used for smoke signals many a time.” “Was jest thinkin' of thet same. Shall we ride around there an' take a peek?” “No. But we'll remember that. If Beasley's got his deep scheme goin', he'll have Snake Anson's gang somewhere close.” “Roy said thet same. Wal, it's some three hours till sundown. The hosses keep up. I reckon I'm fooled, for we'll make Pine all right. But old Tom there, he's tired or lazy.” The big cougar was lying down, panting, and his half-shut eyes were on Dale. “Tom's only lazy an' fat. He could travel at this gait for a week. But let's rest a half-hour an' watch that smoke before movin' on. We can make Pine before sundown.” When travel had been resumed, half-way down the slope Dale's sharp eyes caught a broad track where shod horses had passed, climbing in a long slant toward the promontory. He dismounted to examine it, and John, coming up, proceeded with alacrity to get off and do likewise. Dale made his deductions, after which he stood in a brown study beside his horse, waiting for John. “Wal, what 'd you make of these here tracks?” asked that worthy. “Some horses an' a pony went along here yesterday, an' to-day a single horse made, that fresh track.” “Wal, Milt, for a hunter you ain't so bad at hoss tracks,” observed John, “But how many hosses went yesterday?” “I couldn't make out--several--maybe four or five.” “Six hosses an' a colt or little mustang, unshod, to be strict-correct. Wal, supposin' they did. What 's it mean to us?” “I don't know as I'd thought anythin' unusual, if it hadn't been for that smoke we saw off the rim, an' then this here fresh track made along to-day. Looks queer to me.” “Wish Roy was here,” replied John, scratching his head. “Milt, I've a hunch, if he was, he'd foller them tracks.” “Maybe. But we haven't time for that. We can backtrail them, though, if they keep clear as they are here. An' we'll not lose any time, either.” That broad track led straight toward Pine, down to the edge of the cedars, where, amid some jagged rocks, evidences showed that men had camped there for days. Here it ended as a broad trail. But from the north came the single fresh track made that very day, and from the east, more in a line with Pine, came two tracks made the day before. And these were imprints of big and little hoofs. Manifestly these interested John more than they did Dale, who had to wait for his companion. “Milt, it ain't a colt's--thet little track,” avowed John. “Why not--an' what if it isn't?” queried Dale.