The trail continued to be a plain one, made by two pairs of feet. The boys had followed it for a considerable time before attention was called to the fact that the prints were going in but one direction!
“Well, of all boobs that’s us!” declared Lanky when this fact was finally noted.
“It’s peculiar!” Frank stood against a tree, looking carefully at the trail. “I wonder how long since the prints ceased going in two directions.”
Sheepishly the boys looked at the trail, each one now cognizant of this fact, and wondering, with Frank, when the prints had ceased showing travel in both directions.
“It would indicate,” went on Frank, “that these fellows did not come from this direction—they are merely going this way. Unless, of course—and we must not forget that point—they came through here before the snow fell.”
“I believe we can eliminate that possibility,” Lanky spoke up. “There would be a faint track, at least, to show that they had come to our place from these hills. It surely does look queer. Wonder if this trail could possibly lead to some settlement below the mountains?”
“If that is true,” Frank’s eyes followed out over the hills, “we’ll catch up with them somewhere, and they’ve got to give us back everything they have.”
Not getting anywhere in their guesses over this circumstance to which they had given no heed previously, they plodded on through the snow, trudging along the same path followed by the two men somewhere ahead of them.
“Whoa!” suddenly cried Paul Bird, who now was leading the single file followers of the trail. “What’s this? Are they leaving our stuff along the trail?” He stooped to pick up something lying in the snow—a silver-plated knife!
“We’re on the right track!” Lanky exploded. “Wow! This is fine! Must have dropped out of their pockets or the bundle they were carrying. Ahead of us are the fellows with our stuff!”