"Hardly. Dogskins may be valuable, but the buckshot in my gun just about
ruined those for any use, all but the yellow fellow. I had to laugh at
Jesse when he saw these tails. His eyes were like saucers," declared
Jerry, chuckling.
"All right, it was a pretty clever piece of work, and he knew it. If that
big hound had ever laid hold of you--ugh! I don't want to think of it.
Let's talk about something pleasant--Bluff's pump-gun for instance,"
remarked Frank.
His eyes met those of Jerry, and the other turned red in the face.
"I don't see anything pleasant about that subject. Goodness knows we hear
enough of it from him. What d'ye suppose he wanted to stay in camp for?"
he demanded.
"Perhaps to cudgel his brains in order to remember whether he could have
taken it with him when we ran out of camp that night; or, perhaps, to
give another look around," suggested Frank, dryly.
"Good luck to him, then," continued Jerry. "He ought to employ the great
American detective Will here, who discovers things by the print of a
foot. Possibly he could follow up the trail of the thief until it led to
the lost Gatling gun."
"It would have been a good idea if taken at the time. What's this plain
trail lead to?" asked Frank.
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