after Moran had disappeared among the trees on the opposite side. Flash had many times seen Moran stalk game. He was stalking now. Flash knew the truth at last. They were deliberately hunting down this man. A savage thrill surged through him with the knowledge but his uneasiness also increased.
Additional trails joined in from every branching canyon. The main path flashed a multitude of messages. These varying bits of scent were as plain to his quivering nose as the crazy colors of a patchwork quilt are plain to the eye of man. True, the majority of these scents were old, none of them made since the previous day, but he knew the perils of the spot to which they led.
Both men too, had noted all these things. The trail up the main creek was worn broad and deep; those that joined in from tributary canyons were too well traveled to have been worn by the feet of the few animals who would be apt to live in so restricted a space. The scarcity of game signs indicated that the country had been hunted thoroughly and often. Every open glade showed evidence of having been closely pastured year after year by many horses. Moran judged these to be
