THE BLACK FOX SKIN
"One question more, Joe. Do you really think Val Black is the guilty man?"
November Joe looked up with his quick, sudden smile. "It'll be a shock to Evans if he ain't," said he.
Very soon we struck the robber's trail, and saw from a second line of tracks that Evans was ahead of us following it.
"Here the thief goes," said Joe. "See, he's covered his moccasins with deerskin, and here we have Evans's tracks. He's hurrying, Evans is—he's feeling good and sure of the man he's after!"
Twice November pointed out faint signs that meant nothing to me.
"Here's where the robber stopped to light his pipe—see, there's the mark of the butt of his gun between those roots—the snow's thin there. Must 'a' had a match, that chap," he said after a minute, and standing with his back to the wind, he made a slight movement of his hand.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Saving myself trouble," he turned at right angles and began searching through the trees.
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