"This is indeed a fearful blow, but surely we can trace the scoundrels!"
"Boys, hurry through with your breakfast," said Roland. "Jake, I will be back in a few minutes."
He whistled shrilly and Brawn came rushing to his side.
"Follow me, Brawn."
His object was to find out in which direction the savages had gone.
Had Brawn been a blood-hound he could soon have picked up the scent.
As it was, however, his keen eyes discovered the trail on the lawn, and led him to the gate. He howled impatiently to have it opened, then bounded out and away towards the forest in a westerly and southerly direction, which, if pursued far enough, would lead towards Bolivia, along the wild rocky banks of the Madeira River.
It was a whole hour before Brawn returned. He carried something in his mouth. He soon found his master, and laid the something gently down at his feet, stretching himself--grief-stricken--beside it.
It was one of Peggy's boots, with a white silk stocking in it, drenched in blood.
The white men and Indians were now fully aroused, and, leaving Jake in charge of the estate, Roland picked out thirty of the best men, armed them with guns, and placed them under the command of Burly Bill. Then they started off in silence, Roland and Burly mounted, the armed whites and Indians on foot.