Mr. Fitler’s eyes noted everything, as he walked slowly back.
“Bring the light here,” he said, at length, as they came near the rear wall. He stooped and picked up something from the floor.
“Who made those footprints?” he asked, pointing to two very faint indentations in an unusually soft portion of the floor.
They all looked down with interest, Will holding the light close. The shape of a foot could be plainly made out.
“That’s a reg’lar Robinson Crusoe find,” said Will. “If we was only on a desert island now we might look for Injuns, or sich customers.”
“Here we can look for rogues,” said the officer. “It is a small foot,” he continued, examining with great care.
“About the size of the boy’s shoe,” said Wilson, looking sharply at Will’s feet. “Set your foot here.”
“Oh, you dry up,” said Will, angrily. “I ain’t measuring feet now. Maybe I made it. I was down here yesterday. So was more of the men.”
“No impudence, Will,” said Mr. Leonard, reprovingly.
“Can’t help it,” said Will, defiantly. “Imperdence was born in me, and it will work loose. Can’t keep it down.”