Old Rocks made no answer, but returned to the little pile of fuel he had accumulated. This he quickly pulled over, selecting several sticks. He thrust the end of one into the flames, and, in a few moments, had a lighted torch.
"Git yer guns," he directed, "an' come erlong with me."
They did so, with the exception of the professor, who never touched a weapon if he could avoid it. However, he followed the others, and Old Rocks quickly took up the trail once more.
Frank was filled with anxiety for the safety of little Fay. He wondered greatly that the child should arise and creep from the tent without disturbing any one, and then flee into the darkness, but he did not doubt that Rocks had read the sign correctly.
It almost seemed that the guide was able to follow the trail by scent, for he moved swiftly, bending low, and holding the torch close to the ground.
In vain Frank looked for a footprint. The ground did not seem soft enough to yield such a mark, and still Old Rocks seldom hesitated a moment.
Along the valley they went, stringing out one after the other, their hearts throbbing with anxiety.
In this manner they proceeded at least half a mile, and then they came to a stretch of timber. The trail led straight into the woods.
Old Rocks growled and shook his head, and it was plain that he was quite as anxious as any of them.
For a moment they paused on the border of the strip of woods, while the guide got down on his hands and knees and closely inspected the trail.