Charley stopped and called. Again and again he shouted. There was no response.
"Maybe he went back to look for me and I passed him in the smoke," thought Charley. "I'll go back to the brook."
He turned to retrace his steps. Something suddenly flashed into flame close beside him. It caught Charley's attention. He saw it was a pine bough. Then he noticed that it had been freshly cut.
"It's Lew's brush," cried Charley. "He must have been here."
He sank on his knees close to the blazing bough, and heedless of smoke and flame began to examine the ground carefully. He ran his fingers lightly over the leaves, feeling for footprints. At first he found nothing. Then he discovered the impression of a heel. He could not be certain which way the footprint pointed.
With the heel mark as a centre, he began to feel about in a circle two or three feet wide. He judged that would be the length of his chum's stride. Twice he felt around the circle before he found a second footprint. It was in the direction of the brook. He moved forward and searched where he thought the third step should have fallen. Here he distinctly saw the mark of a foot. When he rose to his feet his coat sleeve was beginning to smoke and his face was blistered.
"Lew's gone back to the brook," he muttered. "I must have passed him in the smoke. He's probably looking for me."
But he still felt vaguely uneasy and fearful. He walked rapidly toward the brook. The trail he was following became distinct. The leaves had been kicked up here and there by Lew as he walked. The track grew plainer and plainer. It became more like a plow furrow. At first Charley did not grasp the meaning of the shambling trail. Then it came to him.
"He's dragging his feet," he muttered. "He must be all in. Maybe he's down."
Charley took a quick look at the flames. They had crept frightfully close to the trail in the leaves. Then he sprang forward at top speed. His face was white.