I’d heard a few shots the night before, and I had a hunch they was being _exchanged_; but as the deer season was open and the town dudes was out for ’em, I just figgered maybe a couple of bucks had made their last jump, and I let it go at that. The next morning when I went to run in the ponies for a fresh horse to do the day’s riding on, I finds that my big buckskin was missing, my own horse, and one of the best I ever rode. I makes another circle of the pasture and comes to a gate at one corner and stops. On the ground, plain as you wanted to see, was boot-marks where some _hombre_ had got off to open the gate and lead my buckskin through.…
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