“Stand perfectly still, boys,” said Mr. Swan, when he and his young friends halted on the bank of the creek and discovered that their boats had vanished during their brief absence. “Stand still, or you’ll muss the ground up so that I can’t see the villain’s tracks.”
“You don’t think they have been stolen, do you?” exclaimed Arthur Hastings.
“I don’t think nothing else,” answered the guide. “I’ve handled a boat too long to go away and leave it without pulling it so far out on the bank that the current can’t carry it off. I’ve noticed that you are middling particular about that, too. Of course our boats were stolen. It’s one of Matt Coyle’s tricks.”
“Well, I am beat!” cried Joe.
“And under our very noses, too,” exclaimed Roy.
“It isn’t quite as bad as that, but it’s bad enough,” said Mr. Swan, who was angry as well as surprised. “This is the second time he has played this game on us, and I don’t see why I didn’t tell one of you to stay here.”
While the guide talked he scraped a few dry leaves and twigs together and touched them off with a match. When they blazed up more fuel was thrown on, and presently Roy pointed out something. It was the print of a big foot in the mud close to the water’s edge.
“What better evidence do you want than that?” said Mr. Swan. “Matt Coyle is the only man about Indian Lake who wears such a shabby foot-gear and the only one who lugs a hoof of that size around with him. I know, for I have followed his trail plenty of times.”
“Then he must have been the one who kindled that fire.”
“It’s very likely.”