The boys waited to hear no more, but telling old Herick to watch for the other searchers and tell them about the wild man, they set off up the brook as fast as they could travel.
As the chums progressed they looked to the right and left, wondering if Wilbur Poole had kept to the tiny watercourse or taken to the woods, which were now exceedingly dense.
“I see his footprints!” cried Phil, as they passed a sandy stretch. “Anyway, those marks look fresh.”
“I fancy you are right, Phil, and if so, he can’t be very far ahead of us.”
They went on, following the windings of the stream until it became less than a foot wide. It came to an end at a number of springs among the rocks.
“Fine, cold water,” announced Dave. “Here is a chance for a good drink, Phil.” 264
Both were drinking their fill when a loud voice suddenly challenged them.
“Ha! What are you doing at my fountain?”
Both looked up hurriedly and saw the wild man standing on the highest of the rocks. He had his arms folded and was glaring at them sternly.
“Oh!” murmured Phil. “Say, Dave, there he is! What shall we do?”