cartridge-belt the Indian held, and taking out one shell compared it with the others.
"They are different?" he said inquiringly.
"Only that these are full metal-patched bullets, like the one I showed you from the drawer, while those in Neal's belt are soft-nosed," Sheppard answered immediately. "We had both kinds in camp, for we were making the first real trial of the new gun; but we used only the soft-nosed in hunting. They are Sheppard-Tyler's, Trant—all of them; and that is the one important thing and enough of itself to settle the murderer!"
"But can you understand, Mr. Sheppard, even if the man who shot the four shells found he didn't need the fifth,"—the young psychologist held up the single, unshot shell which the Indian had found near the door—"why he should throw it there? And more particularly I can't make out why—" He checked himself and swung from his client to the Indian as the perplexity which had filled his face when he first handled the shells gave way to the quick flush of energetic action.
"Suppose this were the mess-room of the cabin, McLain," he gestured to the trophy-room, as he shot out his question; "can you show me how it was arranged and what you found there?"
"Yes, yes;" the Indian turned to the end wall and pointed, "there the door to outside; on floor near it, four empty shells, one full one." He stalked to a corner at the opposite end. "Here door to bunk-room. Here," he stopped and touched his fingers to the floor, "Neal Sheppard's shoes where he drop
