“But you’ll have a big job trying to locate that chap in those woods,” was the farmer’s comment. “The growth back here is very thick, and my boys have been lost in it more than once.”
“Huh! we always found our way out again,” grumbled the older of the sons, who did not like this statement on his parent’s part.
“Yes, Billy, but the woods are mighty thick,” returned his brother. “If that feller don’t look out he may get lost and get froze to death to-night, unless he knows enough to make a fire.”
It was easy enough to follow the footprints to the edge of the woods. But once there, the brushwood and rocks were so thick that to follow the marks one would have had to have the eyes of an expert trailer. Dave and the farmer, with the two boys, searched around for the best part of a quarter of an hour, but without success.
“He’s slipped you, I guess,” remarked the farmer, shaking his head. “I thought he would.”
“Are there any trails running through the woods in this vicinity?”
“The only trail I know of is the one running to Bixter. There is a woods road used by the lumbermen, but that is on the other side of the railroad tracks.”
The struggle with Ward Porton, followed by 77 the run, had put Dave into quite a perspiration, and in the depth of the woods he found it exceedingly cold.
“I’ll have to keep on the move or I may get a chill,” he told the others, after another look around. “I guess we had better give it up.”
“Goin’ to offer any reward for capturin’ that feller?” questioned the older of the two boys, when the four were on their way back to the cow-shed.