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Chapter 77

           Zebsawthatseveralshodhorseshadpassedalongit,somedaysbefore:anditwasthisthatcausedhimtocomebackandexamineit.

           Hecouldtelltoaday—toanhour—whenthehorseshadpassed;andfromthesignitself.Buttheexerciseofhisingenuitywasnotneededonthisoccasion.Heknewthatthehoof-printswerethoseofthehorsesriddenbySpanglerandhisparty—afterbeingdetachedfromthemainbodyofsearcherswhohadgonehomewiththemajor.

           Hehadheardthewholestoryofthatcollateralinvestigation—howSpanglerandhiscomradeshadtracedHenryPoindexter’shorsetotheplacewherethenegrohadcaughtit—ontheoutskirtsoftheplantation.

           Toanordinaryintellectthismighthaveappearedsatisfactory.Nothingmorecouldbelearntbyanyonegoingoverthegroundagain.

           ZebStumpdidnotseemtothinkso.Ashestoodlookingalongit,hisattitudeshowedindecision.

           "IfIkedmakeshuro’havin’time,"hemuttered,"I’dfolleritfust.JestaslikeasnotI’llfindaflukethurtoo.Butthur’snosartinty’beoutthetime,anI’dbetterpurceedtosettlewi’theanymalascastthequartershoe."

           Hehadturnedtogooutoftheglade,whenathoughtoncemorestayedhim.

           "Arterall,itkinbeeezyfoun’atanytime.Ikinguesswharit’lllead,assartint,asifI’drud’longsidetheskunkthetmadeit—straightcustruttothestableo’CaserCorver.

           "It’sadurnedpitytodropthisun,—nowwhilesI’mhyuruponthespot.

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