At the top of the hill came a level stretch, and here the wounded rider had gathered himself together again and stumbled forward. Within a very short distance the road forked, and at the fork the trail was lost. The two roads were hard and stony, and showed no trace of footmarks, and the blood had ceased to fall.
'A road apiece,' said Chippy.
'Yes,' said Dick. 'You take right; I'll take left. First one to find anything whistles.'
CHAPTER XLIV
THE BROTHER SCOUT
They parted instantly, and each took his track, his eyes glued to the ground. They could work a great distance apart and yet keep in touch, for their patrol whistles were very powerful, and the day was still.
Chippy went a good three-quarters of a mile, and yet had found nothing. He feared he was not on the right track, for at last he came to a soft patch where spoor ought to have been. There was one new track: the man with the hobnailed boots had turned this way, but there was no other sign of recent passage. Chippy was standing in hesitation, when faint and far away the shrill call of a patrol whistle came to his ears. At once he raised his own whistle to his lips and blew an answering call, then turned and darted like a hare back along the road. He gained the fork and raced along the path which Dick had followed. It was clear that the Wolf had found the track or the injured boy, but the Raven did not trouble about searching for signs of the rider. He knew that his comrade would leave him full directions which way to travel, and his only aim now was to join Dick. So he tore along the road, his eyes fixed on the centre of the track.
Suddenly he pulled up dead. There was a broad arrow marked heavily in the road with the point of Dick's staff. The head pointed to a side-track, and Chippy wheeled and flew off in the new direction. Again he was pulled up. A second broad arrow, square across the way. This time the head pointed to a wicket-gate painted white. Even as the Raven dodged through the wicket he knew that his comrade had hit the right trail. The wicket was painted white, and a stain of red was smeared across the top bar: the injured boy had passed this way.
Faster and faster sped the Raven along a winding field-path which led through meadow after meadow. Then he saw his friend in the distance, and knew that Dick was still on the trail, for he was bending low and moving slowly. The Wolf turned his head as his companion came up panting.