"Look!" said Don, with startling suddenness, as he, somewhat in the lead, came to a spot where the ground was softer. The other two dropped to their knees beside him. There was no mistaking the fresh foot-prints, nor the fact that they were of about the size of Big Jack Carew's shoe.
"The sign was right!" exclaimed Andy, his voice shaky. "He has passed this way, and not long ago."
They arose and hastened onward. For a considerable distance the surface was sufficiently soft to plainly show the prints and they were able to jog along at a slow run. Then the ground suddenly became hard and rocky and began to rise in hilly sections.
"No more foot-prints," said Andy, "but the best thing we can do is to keep right on."
"Great guns!" exclaimed Fred, almost before Andy was through. He could say nothing more, but stood as though transfixed, pointing ahead and upward.
There, in plain sight of all, was Big Jack Carew, walking along the brow of a hill and headed straight toward where the jagged rocks ended over a cliff sheer over the ocean.
Fred cupped his hands to his mouth as though to shout.
"No! No!" Don warned. "Don't do that!"
He broke into a run and the others followed. The way was hard going, and several times they stumbled. It was a race against Fate, with the unconscious Jack Carew steadily nearing the cliff that would mean his instant death.
Don fell, and the other two continued on, his voice following them, bidding them not to lose an instant. He had strained a tendon and from that time on he made painful progress.