CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
YACK DON'T LIE
For a time the trail seemed to lead toward Whisper. Then it turned away
and seemed about to end abruptly on a flat outcropping of rock two miles
from Whisper camp. Lone frowned and stared at the ground, and Swan spoke
sharply to Jack, who was nosing back and forth, at fault if ever a dog
was. But presently he took up the scent and led them down a barren slope
and into grassy ground where a bunch of horses grazed contentedly. Jack
singled out one and ran toward it silently, as he had done all his
trailing that morning. The horse looked up, stared and went galloping
down the little valley, stampeding the others with him.
"That's about where I thought we'd wind up--in a saddle bunch," Lone
observed disgustedly. "If I had the evidence you're carrying in your
pocket, Swan, I'd put that darn dog on the scent of the man, not the
horse."
"The man I've got," Swan retorted. "I don't have to trail him."
"Well, now, you _think_ you've got him. Here's good, level ground--I
couldn't get outa sight in less than ten minutes, afoot. Let me walk out
a ways, and you see if that handkerchief's mine.
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