Will Brent was, in the sense of present requirements, no woodsman. He
knew the forests as a lumber expert knows them, but the seemingly
trivial and minute indications that another might have read, carried
for him no meaning.
However, he put his dependence in Bud Sellers whose knowledge of such
lore amounted to wizardry, and at one point Bud halted abruptly gazing
down with absorbtion from his saddle.
"Right hyar," he said shortly, "Alexander stopped an' hed speech with
two horsemen. Ther looks of hit don't pleasure me none nuther."
"Why?" inquired Brent, and the mountaineer drew his brow into an
apprehensive furrow. "Fer a spell back, I've been watchin' these signs
with forebodin's. Alexander wasn't ridin' at no stiddy gait. She'd
walk her mule, then gallop him--then she'd pull down an' halt. These
other two riders did jest what she did--kain't ye read ther story writ
out in ther marks of them mule-irons on ther mud?"
Brent shook his head in bewilderment.
"Well, hit's all too damn plain an' hit would 'pear ter signify that
Alexander sought ter shake off two fellers thet didn't low ter be shook
off.
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