had come upon “Lord” Bill, the Allandales and he had become closer friends than ever.  This effort had been one of the money-lender’s few failures, and failure galled him with a bitterness the recollection of which no success could eliminate.  The result was a greater hatred for the object of his vengeance, and a lasting determination to rid Foss River of the Englishman forever.  And so he remained standing and watching until, at length, the entrance of one of his clerks, to announce that the saloon dinner-time was at hand, brought him out of his cruel reverie, and he set off in quest of the needs of his inner man, a duty which nothing, of whatever importance, was allowed to interfere with.

In the meantime, Horrocks, or, as he was better known amongst his comrades, “the Ferret,” was hot upon the trail of the lost cattle.  Horrocks bristled with energy at every point, and his men, working with him, had reason to be aware of the fact.  It was an old saying amongst them that when “the Ferret” was let loose there was no chance of bits rusting.  In other words, his mileage report to his chiefs would be a long one.

As the sergeant anticipated, it was child’s play to track the stolen herd.  The tracks left by the fast-driven cattle was apparent to the veriest greenhorn, and Horrocks and his men were anything but greenhorns.

Long before evening closed in they had followed the footprints right down to the edge of the great muskeg, and already Horrocks anticipated a smart capture.  But his task seemed easier than it really was.  On the brink of the keg the tracks became confused.  With some difficulty the sleuth instincts of these accomplished trackers led them to follow the marks for a mile and a half along the edge of the mire, then, it seemed, the herd had been turned and driven with great speed back on their tracks.  But worse confusion became apparent; and “the Ferret” soon realized that the herd had been driven up and down along the border of the great keg with a view to evading further pursuit.  So frequently had this been done that it was impossible to further trace the stock, and the sun was already sinking when Horrocks dismounted, and with him his men were at last forced to acknowledge defeat.

He had come to a standstill with a stretch of a mile and a half of cattle tracks before him.  There was no sign further than this of where the beasts had been driven.  The keg itself gave no clew.  It was as green and trackless as ever, and again on the land side there was not a single foot-print beyond the confused marks along the quagmire’s dangerous border.

The work of covering retreat had been carried out by a master hand, and Horrocks was not slow to acknowledge the cleverness of the raider.  With all one good prairie man’s appreciation for another he detected a foeman worthy of his steel, and he warmed to the problem set out before him.  The troopers waited for their superior’s instructions.  As “the Ferret” did not speak one of the men commented aloud.