Nor did Joe Dawson have to wait long ere Henry Tremaine, with hunting rifle in hand, bounded out from the house, followed by Oliver Dixon.
“Dixon will stand on guard here, while the rest of us go into the woods,” declared Tremaine. “Now, lead on quickly, the way you saw Halstead go.”
Off at a quick run started Joe Dawson. They entered the woods, spreading out in a line as they went.
“Here—everybody!” yelled Henry Tremaine, within two minutes. His hail brought Joe and Jeff to him on the jump.
“Look at the ground here,” cried the owner of the bungalow, hoarsely. “There’s been a struggle here.”
“And good old Tom was in it!” panted Joe, making a dive for the ground, then holding up one of the brass uniform buttons bearing the monogram of the Motor Boat Club.
The three discoverers stood staring blankly at one another for the next few seconds.
“See if there’s a trail—look about for it,” commanded Tremaine, himself beginning to search about over the ground.
“Here’s the start of one,” called Jeff, presently. “And now it dies out. Hunters of the Everglades, I reckon, were the men who did this trick. They know how to cover trails. Yet perhaps they’ve given us a clue, for the trail, as it starts, heads toward the water.”