Terry stood with his hands in his pockets frowning down at the marks, while the rest of us waited silently, scarcely daring to think. Finally he turned away without saying a word, and, motioning us to keep back, commenced examining the path which led up the incline. He mounted the three stone steps, and with his eyes on the ground, slowly advanced to the spot where the struggle had taken place.
"How tall a man did you say Mose was?" he called down to us.
"Little short fellow—not more than five feet high," returned the sheriff.
Terry took his ruler from his pocket and bent over to study the marks at the scene of the struggle. He straightened up with an air of satisfaction.
"Now I want you men to look carefully at those marks on the lower borders of the pool, and then come up here and look at these. Come along up in single file, please, and keep to the middle of the path."
He spoke in the tone of one giving a demonstration before a kindergarten class. We obeyed him silently and ranged in a row along the boards.
"Come here," he said. "Bend over where you can see. Now look at those marks. Do you see anything different in them from the marks below?"
The sheriff and I gazed intently at the prints of bare feet which marked the entire vicinity of the struggle. We had both examined them more than once before, and we saw nothing now but what had already appeared. We straightened up and shook our heads.
"They're the prints of bare feet," said Mattison, stolidly. "But I don't see that they're any different from any other bare feet."
Terry handed him the ruler.