Those following Paul were tripped up in similar manner by the wires which, spread over a distance of about a hundred yards, retarded the pursuit, and enabled the fugitives to obtain a good start.
At a point a little way beyond the last wire the path branched off in three directions through the wood, and a momentary halt took place on the part of the pursuers, doubtful as to which track they should take, since the fugitives themselves were lost to view.
The quick eye of Zabern detected a bright-colored object lying a few feet away down the left-hand path. It proved to be a red cap, decorated with a paltry leaden medal of the Czar, a cap declared by Nikita to have been worn by the black-bearded individual.
"Then, forward," cried Zabern, taking the lead. "They have fled this way."
The trio set off again, the extreme narrowness of the path compelling them to run in single file. The ground, hard at first, gradually assumed a moist and muddy character. Its appearance brought Zabern to a sudden stop.
"There are no foot-prints here. We are on the wrong track. Back again. The villains must have flung that cap into this path purposely to mislead us."
Chafing at their loss of time, they ran back to the place where the tracks diverged. Other troopers had come up by this time, and while Paul and Zabern and Nikita took the middle track others hastened along the right-hand path.
"They may not have followed the path at all," said Paul, as he hurried along in the rear of Zabern. "They may be lying hidden in the wood."
"True; but we'll post through first, and if we find no trace of them in the road beyond, I'll draw a cordon round the wood through which they shall not be able to break."
"Marshal, did you see the face of him who fired?" asked Nikita.