There was not a soul around the house. The chickens and live stock, the growing vegetables in the garden and the farm implements in the yard indicated that the owner could not be far away, but he was nowhere in the immediate vicinity.
“Is anyone home?” called Bill at the top of his voice.
There was no answer.
“I guess that it is up to us to find that trail leading east from here without assistance,” said Bill. “There is no doubt about our being near the fire now, is there?”
“You get the shovel and I’ll get the axe,” said Bob. “Let’s see if we can find the trail.”
“There appear to be a flock of trails leading out of here,” said Bill as they walked along. “We are going toward the fire, and I hope that we are on the right one.”
The trail wound around as it mounted the ridge. It was just wide enough for one man, so that Bill walked in front and Bob followed. The smoke became much denser, the crackling of the burning wood much stronger, and it seemed as if any moment they would walk right into the fire.
“Cecil said that it was only a mile from the Crouch house,” said Bob.
“Well, we haven’t walked a mile yet,” replied Bill as he quickened his pace.
They reached the top of the ridge and rounded a turn in the trail. Bill stopped short, for directly ahead of him was a small, rotund man standing with his back toward them.