After they had covered perhaps a mile more with no results, Bob suggested that they cut over to the lake and follow the shore back.
“We might find where a boat was pulled up,” he said.
For the greater part of the way the trees grew close to the water’s edge and they found it very hard going, but they were used to pushing their way through places where it seemed almost impossible to pass.
“One thing’s sure,” Jack panted as he climbed over a fallen tree, “No one could have landed along here and got through this stuff without leaving some marks.”
They were about half way back when they came to a place where there was a bit of beach. It was rocky but between the rocks were patches of sand and Bob’s quick eye caught sight of a foot print imbedded deeply in the soft sand.
“Here’s something,” he cried as he stooped over to examine the mark.
For some minutes he gazed at the print while Jack was eagerly hunting for others. But in this he was unsuccessful. That one was the only foot print on that part of the shore.
“Looks as though he had tried to step only on the stones and had made a single misstep,” he said as he came back to where Bob was still kneeling.
“That would be easy,” Bob agreed as he straightened up.
“Well, what do you make of it, Sherlock? How tall was he and what was the color of his hair?” Jack grinned.