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Pony Rider Boys in Louisiana

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<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <h3>THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED</h3> Butler's first act was to dismount, tossing the bridle rein to Stacy. Tad then hurried to the spot where he had left the deer hanging. "I guess the bear has been here all right," chuckled the fat boy. "Did you really kill a deer, Tad?" "Can't you take my word for it?" demanded Tad somewhat testily. "Oh, yes, of course. Don't get touchy about it." "I think I have reason to be touchy. I not only lose my deer, but my companion doubts that I ever had one." "I was only joking, Tad." "All right." "What do you think?" Stacy resumed. "I don't think. I am trying to see." Tad stood still before destroying the clues by tramping about on the scene. The poles on which the deer had been hung had been flung to one side. He could see where the deer had fallen to the ground when the poles had been removed, and his first impression was that a bear had chanced that way and torn down the dead animal. But Tad knew that a bear would not have dragged the prey away, that the bear, if hungry, would have made a meal of it, then crawled away somewhere to sleep or rest. The deer had disappeared. That meant that some person had carried it away. The Pony Rider Boy circled slowly about the scene, using his eyes to good advantage. He saw the prints of a heavy boot in the soft ground; then he discovered that the bushes had been crushed down where the doe had been dragged. It was a plain trail up to a certain point, and there the trail changed. Further investigation showed the lad that a horse had been tethered to a tree nearby, and it was at the base of this tree that the dragged-trail came to an end. Butler understood the meaning of this when he discovered quite a pool of blood on the leaves of some trampled bushes. Some person had stolen his deer and loaded it to the back of the horse. Following the trail still farther, Tad saw that the man had ridden away with his prize. "It is plain theft, nothing more or less," muttered the boy, as he started back to Stacy. "Well?" questioned the fat boy. "Stolen!" answered Butler sharply. "You don't say so? Who did it?" "How should I know? I shouldn't be surprised if the man saw me hang the deer there, then as soon as I got away he stole the carcass. Wasn't that a measly trick?" "Beastly," agreed Stacy. Tad stood pondering. "What are you going to do about it—tell Mr. Lilly?" questioned Stacy. "Well, hardly that. I am going after that deer," answered Tad with a firm compression of the lips. "You may go back to camp if you wish." "No, sir! If there is going to he any fun you may count me in every time. But we may get lost." "We can't get lost on that trail. By the time we have passed over it in the wake of the other man it will be plainly marked." "How do you know there wasn't more than one?" asked Stacy. "Because the tracks of one horse are all there are here. One man and one horse, that's all." "Hm-m-m! But he may he a long way from here by this time." "He cannot have gone far in this short time. Then remember, he is carrying a heavy load. No horse can travel fast in this swamp, especially when carrying a man and a deer, unless the man walked. In that case his progress would be still slower." "Yes, but what are you going to do if you do catch up with him?" urged Chunky. "Get my deer," answered Tad firmly. "Let's be going," urged Stacy after a moment's reflection. Tad needed no further urging. He quickly led his horse around the spot where the deer had been dropped, then blazing a tree on four sides for the guidance of Billy Lilly in case the latter should find it necessary to follow them, Tad started off on the trail of the deer thief, followed a short distance to the rear by Stacy Brown. The trail was not difficult to follow; even a novice could not well have missed it for the thief had used his bush-knife freely in getting away. Tad had little use for his own bush-knife, except here and there where he found it possible to make a short cut where the other man had made a detour to find better going for his heavy load. These short cuts saved quite a little of the distance. Tad imagined that they were going a third faster than the man they were pursuing. If that were the fact they should overhaul him very quickly. "Say, how much farther have we got to go?" finally called Stacy. "Keep quiet," warned Tad. "Don't call. The trail is growing fresher every minute. We cannot be far from him now. I think we had better slow down a little. Make as little noise as possible." "I don't see what that has to do with it," grumbled Chunky. "It may have a great deal to do with it. You do as I tell you." They were not as near as they thought, and the man was making better time than they had deemed possible. At the rate the boys were going Tad felt that they should have overhauled him at about this time, but there was neither sight nor sound of a human being, though the trail itself was still plain and fresh. "More speed," directed the Pony Rider Boy. "I'll break my neck if I ride any faster," objected Stacy. "Then stay here and wait for me." "I won't." The horses settled to their work as if they understood what was expected of them. They leaped cypress knees, fallen trees, and tore through the forest at a perilous pace, but they were making more noise than either of the boys realized. So much noise did they make that horseman some distance ahead of them heard them plainly. Tad suddenly pulled his horse down to a walk. Ahead of him, sitting his saddle easily, was a tall, bearded man. The latter's horse was white, with pink nostrils, something like Tad Butler's mount. The rider was raw-boned and armed with rifle and bush-knife, besides a revolver that protruded from his belt. But there was no deer on the horse, nor any trace of a deer. "Howdy, stranger," greeted the man. "Good afternoon," answered Tad, eyeing the man narrowly. "Have you seen anything of a man carrying a deer?" "A deer?" "Yes, sir." "I reckon I saw a fellow with a buck some twenty minutes back." "Where?" "Oh, he went on past here." "Which way did he go?" "That way," answered the stranger, pointing on to the westward. "Did you know the man?" "Never sot eyes on him before, kiddie," answered the man. "But you seem mighty interested?" "I am," was the terse reply. Tad was using his eyes to good purpose, but trying not to let the man know that he was doing so. "Somebody you know?" Tad shook his head. "But we would like to know him," interjected Stacy. "For what, kiddie?" Tad gave Chunky a quick glance of warning. "Oh, nothing much. We thought we should like to hold a conversation with him, that's all," answered Stacy carelessly. "You are quite sure it was a buck that he was carrying?" questioned Butler. "I reckon I ought to know." "I think you are mistaken." "Eh?" "It was a doe." "So?" "Yes, sir. It was my doe," persisted Butler. "Yours?" in well-feigned amazement. "It was. I shot him and someone stole him. If you know anything about the man who took him, I would ask you kindly to tell me. He may have carried the carcass away under the impression that the man who killed the doe had abandoned it." "This man wasn't under any seech impression, kiddie." "How do you know?" "Wall, in the first place it wasn't a doe and in the second place the fellow killed it himself, I reckon," drawled the stranger. "May I ask who you are?" "That doesn't cut any figure." "It may cut more than you think." "What do you mean?" demanded the stranger, peering angrily at Tad. "That I am going to have that deer if I have to hold up every man in the canebrake," was Tad's firm reply. "I reckon you've got your work out out for you," chuckled the fellow. Tad gave him another look, and swung down from his stirrup. "Stacy, you remain where you are." "What are you going to do?" demanded the fat boy. "Take a little look around. Keep your eyes peeled," he warned in a lower tone, intended for Chunky's ears alone. The fat boy nodded. Stacy was unafraid. In fact he was pleased and he shrewdly suspected that the man before them knew more about the stolen doe than he had told them. He was positive that the stranger was shielding the real thief, and that Tad knew it. "Trust Tad for seeing things," was the fat boy's reasoning. Butler was seeing things. "What do you reckon you are going to do?" called the man. "I want to look about here a bit, that's all. I don't suppose you have any objections?" questioned Tad sarcastically. "You are a mighty pert young fellow, it strikes me." Tad did not reply. He was following the trail of a horse to the north of where the horseman was sitting, narrowly watching Tad. In order to do so more fully, the stranger wheeled his mount about. "Hello!" exclaimed Chunky. "What's the matter with you?" demanded the man. "Your nag must have hurt itself." "What makes you think so?" "He has blood on his flanks." "That's so, kiddie. I reckon I must have pricked him with my bush-knife. I'll have to tend to that at the first opportunity," explained the fellow lamely. "Pricked him with a bush-knife, eh?" "Yes." "Ha, ha, ha; haw, haw, haw!" laughed the fat boy mockingly. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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