This was rather disappointing intelligence, for it required him to retrace his steps, and go back over ground which he had already traveled.  However, if the information was reliable, no time was to be lost, and he started from the saloon to commence his preparations at once.

While at the bar, he had noticed a sturdy, honest-looking miner, who was taking a drink, and who had stopped and looked intently at him while the proprietor had given him the information above mentioned.  As Manning left the saloon, the man followed him a short distance, and when out of sight of the saloon called after him; Manning stopped and the man came toward him.

“Mister,” said he, as he approached the detective, “ef ye go to the park, you won’t find the man yer arter, that’s a dead sure thing.”

“What do you mean?” asked Manning with some surprise.

“I means as how the boss of the saloon yonder has lied to ye, that’s all.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Bekase I passed the man ye wor askin’ about three days ago, on the road to Helena.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Well, I reckon I am.  I couldn’t make much of a mistake about that white-faced pony he wor a-ridin’.”

Requesting the miner to accompany him to the hotel, Manning interrogated him closely about the appearance of the man, and found that he was giving him the correct information, as his description of Duncan tallied precisely with what he himself had already learned.  After carefully weighing the matter, Manning decided to act upon this latter information, and to start for Helena that evening.  The saloon-keeper evidently mistrusted some danger to Duncan, from the detective’s inquiries, and Manning was inclined to believe that the fugitive had stopped there during his stay in Bozeman, and that the proprietor of the saloon had attempted to deceive him and turn him off from the tracks of the unfortunate burglar.

Thus far, from all that could be learned of Duncan’s movements, the young man was traveling entirely alone.  From point to point across the western continent Manning had traced him, and no tidings of a companion had been as yet received.  Alone and friendless, cut off from all the old associations of his past life, this unfortunate man was flying from a fate which he felt must be impending.  Through the long summer days and under the starry skies during the weary nights, this fleeing outcast was working his way to fancied freedom and security.  I wonder if, during the long watches of the night, when he sought the needed slumber which his weary brain and body demanded, whether the accuser’s voice was not sounding in his ears, whether he did not start with affright at fancied dangers, and find his lonely life a burden, heavy and sorrowful!