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It
did
not
puzzle
Zeb
Stump
;
or
but
for
a
second
of
time
.
Almost
the
instant
his
eye
fell
upon
it
,
he
read
the
meaning
of
the
manoeuvre
,
and
mutteringly
pronounced
it
to
himself
.
"
Oblitturatin
'
the
print
o
'
the
broken
shoe
,
or
tryin
'
to
do
thet
same
!
'
Taint
no
use
,
Mister
Cash
Calhoun
--
no
manner
o
'
use
.
Ye
've
made
yur
fut
marks
too
deep
to
deceive
me
;
an
by
the
Eturnal
I
'll
foller
them
,
though
they
shed
conduck
me
into
the
fires
o
'
hell
?
"
As
the
backwoodsman
terminated
his
blasphemous
apostrophe
,
the
man
to
whom
it
pointed
,
having
finished
his
task
of
obscuration
,
once
more
leaped
into
his
saddle
,
and
hurried
on
.
On
foot
the
tracker
followed
;
though
without
showing
any
anxiety
about
keeping
him
in
sight
.
There
was
no
need
for
that
.
The
sleuth
hound
on
a
fresh
slot
could
not
be
more
sure
of
again
viewing
his
victim
,
than
was
Zeb
Stump
of
coming
up
with
his
.
No
chicanery
of
the
chapparal
--
no
twistings
or
doublings
--
could
save
Calhoun
now
.
The
tracker
advanced
freely
;
not
expecting
to
make
halt
again
,
till
he
should
come
within
sight
of
Casa
del
Corvo
.
Little
blame
to
him
that
his
reckoning
proved
wrong
.
Who
could
have
foretold
such
an
interruption
as
that
occasioned
by
the
encounter
between
Cassius
Calhoun
and
Isidora
Covarubio
de
los
Llanos
?
Though
at
sight
of
it
,
taken
by
surprise
--
perhaps
something
more
--
Zeb
did
not
allow
his
feelings
to
betray
his
presence
near
the
spot
.
