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Updated: May 27, 2025
Anyway, he's after us. What beats me is how he sticks to thet trail. Cordts never was no tracker. An' since Dick Sears is dead there ain't a tracker in Cordts's outfit. An' I always could hide my tracks.... Beats me!" "Creech, I've been leaving a trail," confessed Lucy. "What!"
After trying it they became convinced that more than a few days of experience would be necessary before satisfactory results could be obtained. They profited little by the best information we could give them, and by the services of the expert tracker whom we loaned to them.
The fugitive must have come to believe that by this time he would have thrown any possible tracker off the scent; at any rate, he tried no new game looking to baffling pursuit. Gliding along like shadows the seven scouts made fair progress. Elmer was of the opinion that at any minute now they might come upon the spot where the unknown had his hide-out.
"But I'm dead certain it wasn't from in front of us, but over to the left, which would be some queer," muttered the tall tracker, staring in the quarter which he now indicated with outstretched finger. "I thought the same, Lil Artha," Elmer told him; "but then this trail twists and turns so much it might get around that way easy enough." "Of course it might, Elmer."
That is easily explained. The tracker is not always a bear-hunter, and even if he were, it would not be prudent for him to approach a bear without assistants, who, by surrounding the animal, should cut off its retreat.
The tracker took the slender trail, followed the wounded rustler to the creek bottom and thence down the creek to its junction with the North Fork. There they lost the trail in a pool of water, nor could they pick it up again. A mile below the fork of the Turkey stood Jim Laramie's cabin.
A body of mounted troopers left Ararat an hour or so before daylight the next morning, and by seven o'clock had reached the scene of the robbery. They had with them a capable black tracker who had figured in recent events in the Wombat Ranges. He was a silent individual who answered to the name of "Jacky," a name that seems to be the heritage of all blacks who serve in the police force.
"I hired as a guide and tracker, a wiry old Mangyan native who seemed to have an instinct for finding a 'timarau' trail and following it where my less skillful eyes could see nothing but undisturbed forest, and who also seemed to have absolutely no fear, a thing which was even more remarkable than his skill, since the natives as a general thing are notably timid about getting in the way of an angry 'timarau. As a matter of fact I did not blame them so very much for this, after I had had one experience myself in trying to dodge the wild charge of one of these animals infuriated by a bullet which I had sent into his body.
None answered her. They stood shame-faced. "Tell her," said the old woman. The men looked at one another. Eudena's face suddenly lit. "Tell her," she said. "Tell her, mighty men! Tell her the killing of Ugh-lomi." The old woman rose and struck her sharply across her mouth. "We could not find Ugh-lomi," said Siss the Tracker, slowly. "Who hunts two, kills none."
The young painter was silent, but all was now explained: while he jumped from the cab, his tracker had been carried away upon it. This discovery saddened the dinner, and a little after ten Andre left his friend and returned home.
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