The trail ran off in a generally northwest direction, leading through a scraggly patch of jack pines, across a grassy meadow, and thence through a winding defile that crawled upward at a sharp slant and came out at length on a barren slope of rock. The snow had almost disappeared during the last week, the few remaining white areas being found only in deep-wooded hollows and on the shady north hillsides. Where there was topsoil of loam, however, a forest-trained eye found little difficulty in tracing the imprints of feet that had gone ahead. But when he reached the granite outcrop, Dexter was brought suddenly to a halt.
The fugitive's boot soles were studded with hobnails, and there should have been a few faint scratches left here and there to indicate his direction of travel; but after a minute inspection of the ground about him, the corporal shook his head, and turned with a baffled frown to meet Alison's questioning gaze.
"I hardly gave Archie credit for being so smart," he remarked acidly. "I'll bet it was you who thought this out for him, and advised him to take off his boots if he struck rocks."
She faced him with her head slightly tilted, and there was mockery in the fleeting smile she gave him. But she kept discreetly silent, and neither admitted nor denied his accusation.
The corporal scrutinized her thoughtfully, with one eyebrow elevated; and then, lightly shrugging his shoulders, he moved onward to seek for the lost trail.
The bare surface of rock reached upward to the snow crests, and extended in a northerly direction around the curve of the steep mountainside. Archie might have climbed still higher, or circled across the pitch of the slope, or gradually worked his way downward to the forested valley below. Whichever course he had taken he must eventually pass beyond the rocks, and even if he kept on traveling in his stocking feet, he was certain to leave some trace of himself when he finally touched soft earth again. Dexter had only to swing around the circumference of the rock slope, and somewhere in moist soil or snow patch he was confident of picking up the broken line of foot tracks.
It meant a loss of time and effort to cast around an interrupted trail, but there was nothing else to be done, and the corporal gave no hint of annoyance as he pushed ahead.
A survey of the country told him that the easiest course of travel would be found along the valley bottoms. The fugitive would be anxious to make the fastest possible progress, and also he would instinctively dread the thought of exposing himself conspicuously on the barren mountain slopes. As soon as he imagined he had left a sufficient gap in his trail, he probably had quit the rock slope and struck downward into the concealing forest. This at least was the most probable supposition, so Dexter bent his steps down the hillside, and presently found himself in a deep, moist hollow, threading his way through dense timber.
He was striding along silently, his restless glance searching the ground before him, when all at once he stopped under a giant white fir that towered in solitary majesty above the tops of the neighboring spruce and pine. On the dark, seamy trunk of the ancient tree there showed a faint, weathered mark, like a wrinkle in the bark. Any other than a trained woodsman would have passed by unobserving. Alison apparently did not know why her companion had halted, even when she saw him bend forward to look at the old tree.
"What is it?" she asked as she read the eager curiosity in Dexter's face.