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Look
at this impression, where you get both tyres clear. The one is as
deep as the other. That can only mean that the rider is throwing
his weight on to the handle-bar, as a man does when he is
sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall."
There was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of
the track. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyres
reappeared once more.
"A side-slip," I suggested.
Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. To my
horror I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled
with crimson. On the path, too, and among the heather were
dark stains of clotted blood.
"Bad!" said Holmes. "Bad! Stand clear, Watson! Not an
unnecessary footstep! What do I read here? He fell wounded -- he
stood up -- he remounted -- he proceeded. But there is no other
track. Cattle on this side path. He was surely not gored by a
bull? Impossible! But I see no traces of anyone else. We must
push on, Watson. Surely, with stains as well as the track to
guide us, he cannot escape us now."
Our search was not a very long one.


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