"I think you can count on that," she smiled. "But what is Flett's
theory?"

"If he has one, he's clever at hiding it," Edgar broke in; "but I'm
doubtful. In my opinion, he knows the value of the professional air of
mystery."

"When I see any use in it, I can talk," retorted Flett. "What's your
notion, Mr. Lansing? You don't agree that the fellow shot your beast
from here?"

"No," answered George. "Of course, there are only two explanations of
the thing, and the first is that it was an accident. In that case, the
fellow must have been out after antelope or cranes."

"There's an objection: it's close season; though I wouldn't count too
much on that. You farmers aren't particular when there's nobody
around. Now, it's possible that a man who'd been creeping up on an
antelope would work in behind this rise and take a quick shot,
standing, when he reached the top of it. If so, I guess he'd have his
eyes only on what he was firing at. Suppose he missed, and your beast
happened to be in line with him?"

Flora smiled.

"It's not convincing, Mr. Flett. Seen from here, the bull would be in
the open, conspicuous against white grass and sand."

"I didn't say the thing was likely. Won't you go on, Mr. Lansing?"