There, in plain view, were the footprints of two Chinese and the unmistakable mark of a white man’s foot.
“There were two parties of smugglers!” exclaimed Ned.
“Either that, or one member of the single party made a cut through the woods, came to our camp, and then joined the others right here,” said Frank.
“Still, I don’t see anything of Fenn,” remarked Bart.
“No? What’s that?” demanded Frank quickly, pointing to footprints, quite some distance back of the others.
“Fenn’s! I’ll be jiggered!” cried Bart. “I can tell them by the triangle mark, made with hobnails that he hammered into the heels of his shoes, after we decided to come on this trip. He said that would prevent him slipping around on deck.”
“Those are Fenn’s footsteps all right—unless some one else has his shoes,” declared Ned. “Come on! We’re on the right trail at last.” And the boys hurried forward, hope once more strong in their hearts.