George gave her one, and after walking up and down and standing for a few moments on a low mound, she chose a position and began the sketch. It was soon finished, but it depicted the scene with distinctness, with the bull standing in the open a little to one side of the clump of scrub. George started as he saw that she had roughly indicated the figure of a man lying upon the little mound with a rifle in his hand. It struck him that she was right.
"It's a picture," said the constable; "but why did you put that fellow yonder?"
"Come and see."
They followed her to the mound, and after an inspection of it, Flett nodded.
"You'd make a mighty smart tracker, Miss Grant. I was against this mound being the firing place, because, to get to it, the fellow would have to come out into the open."
"Would that count? It was a bull he was after."
"It was," Flett agreed. "This fixes the thing."
George looked at him meaningly.
"Have you made up your mind about anything else?"
"Oh, yes," said Flett. "It was done with malicious mischief. If a poor white or an Indian meant to kill a beast for meat, he wouldn't pick a bull worth a pile of money, at least while there was common beef stock about."