They turned northward now and an hour later found numerous hoofprints in a narrow road.
“All these were made by well-shod horses,” said the sergeant, after examining the tracks critically. “Now, we've plenty of horseshoes and the Johnnies haven't. That's one sign.”
“What's the other?”
“I calculate that about six hundred men have passed here, and that's pretty close to the number Colonel Hertford has, unless he's been in a hot fight.”
“Good reasoning, Sergeant, and I'll add a third. Those men are riding directly toward the place where, according to our maps and information, we ought to meet Colonel Hertford.”
“All these things make me sure our men have passed here, Mr. Mason. Suppose we follow on as hard as we can?”
Cheered by the belief that they were approaching the end of their quest they advanced at such a rate that the great trail rapidly grew fresher.
“Their horses are tired now,” said the sergeant, “and likely we're going as fast as they are. They're our men sure. Look at this old canteen that one of 'em has thrown away. It's the kind they make in the North. He ought to have been punished for leaving such a sign.”
“I judge, Sergeant, from the looks of this road, that they can't now be more than a mile away.”
“Less than that, Mr. Mason. When we reach the top of the hill yonder I think we'll see 'em.”