"Well," concluded Bob, "I'm enough of a sleuth to see that that barefoot horse had a rider and wasn't just looking pasture. No animal in its senses would hike uphill and then hike down again, or wade belly deep up a stream." Puzzling over this mystery, he again took his way down the trail. He found it easy to follow, for it had been considerably travelled. In some places the brush had been cut back to open easier passage. Examining these cuttings, Bob found their raw ends only slightly weathered. All this might have been done by the men who had staked the mineral claims, to be sure, but even then Bob found it difficult to reconcile all the facts. In the first place, the trail had indubitably been much used since the time the claims were staked. In the second place, if the prospector had wished to conceal anything, it should have been the fact of his going to the Basin at all, not his whereabouts after arriving there. In other words, if desiring to keep his presence secret, he would have blinded the _beginning_ of the trail rather than its end. He kept a sharp lookout. Near the entrance to the cañon he managed to discover another clear print of the barefoot horse, but headed the other way. Clearly the rider had returned. Bob had hunted deer enough to recognize that the track had been made within the last twenty-four hours. At Sycamore Flats he was treated to further surprises. Martin, of whom he bought his supplies, at first greeted him with customary joviality. "Hullo! hullo!" he cried; "quite a stranger! Out in camp, eh?" "Yes," said Bob, "they've got us working for a change." "Where you located?" "We're estimating timber up in the Basin," replied Bob. The silence that followed was so intense that Bob looked up from the bag he was tying. He met Martin's eyes fixed on him. "The Basin," repeated Martin slowly, at last. "Since when?" "About ten days." "We! Who's we?" "Elliott and I," answered Bob, surprised. "Why?" Martin's gaze shifted. He plainly hesitated for a next remark. "How'd you like it there?" he asked lamely, at length. "I thought none of you fellows ever went there." "Fine timber," answered Bob, cheerfully. "We don't usually. Somebody does though. California John told me that trail was old and out of use; but it's been used a lot. Who gets up there?" "The boys drive in some cattle occasionally," replied Martin, with an effort. Bob stared in surprise. He knew this was not so, and started to speak, but thought better of it. After he had left the store, he looked back. Martin was gazing after him, a frown between his brows.