Wright and Dalmer came over, and both agreed that the youth was right. The foot-prints could be seen plainly.
“We’ll have no difficulty in following them,” said Bob. “I suppose you are both armed?”
Wright said he had a pistol. Ruel Dalmer had a stout club, and declared he wanted no better weapon.
“Jess give me a whack at ’em with this, an’ I’ll knock the daylights clean outer ’em,” he observed, as he grasped the club more firmly than ever.
“They are desperate men,” said Bob. “They would not hesitate to shoot, if cornered. I intend to take no chances.”
“It’s a pity it ain’t day instead o’ night,” observed Wright. “I reckon it’s pitch dark in the woods.”
“The moon is coming up,” said Bob. “That will soon help us. Let us go forward and make as little noise as possible.”
Without further words, the three left the road and entered the belt of timber beyond. Here the ground was soft, and the tracks made by the robbers were plainly visible for a distance of several hundred feet.
“Maybe they crossed to the Shanover turnpike,” suggested Wright. “They might do that, and throw us off the track.”
“We’ll soon find out,” returned Bob.