"We've got him," shouted Skinny. "He went through this way so as not to meet the Gang."
It did look like that, but although we examined every inch of the way between there and the Gingham Ground, we couldn't find another sign of any kind. And we couldn't understand why he had not delivered the message to Mr. Jenks and come back home.
Sorrowfully we made our way out to the sign again and sat down to rest and talk about what to do next.
"Guess what!" said Benny, after a little. "That arrow doesn't point toward the Gingham Ground at all. It points straight back from the road. Let's go that way and see."
There didn't seem to be much use in doing it, but we had to do something.
"Come on," said Skinny, springing up. "He is somewhere; that's a cinch, and we know that he was all right when he drew that sign."
We hurried along and soon struck a little path, up which we ran as fast as we could, for it was growing late.
"Look for another sign," warned Skinny. "Scouts and Injuns always mark the paths they take."
"Hurrah, here it is!" he shouted, a little farther on.
When we had come up, he pointed to a stone, which had been placed in the middle of the path, with a smaller stone on top of it. It was the Indian sign for "This is the trail."