For a short distance the crimson drops on the snow took them along the main highway, but presently they were led away across the fields toward the distant woods. More than once they found a spot where Silver Tongue, weakened and nearly exhausted, had lain for a few moments upon the snow. Over a high ridge they went, and then, having to make more speed across a drifted valley, they finally paused to step into their snowshoes. With each passing minute the snowflakes steadily grew thicker, but in the shelter of the woods this was hardly perceptible, and the red drops still guided them easily.
Few words were spoken; even Sleuth’s loquacious tongue was stilled. Their heart-beats quickened, they penetrated deeper and deeper into the woods. To Piper it seemed like a genuine man hunt, descriptions of which he had often perused with tingling nerves and intense satisfaction in the favorite stories of his choice, and in his lively imagination they were officers of the law pressing close at the heels of a fleeing malefactor.
At times the evergreen thickets were so dense that they pressed through them with no small difficulty. Once the trail led through some white birches which stood gleaming like silent ghosts there in the shadows. They came out at last to the open meadows beyond the woods and found that it was now snowing so heavily that the next strip of timber could be but dimly seen, as through a veil.
“It’s no use,” muttered Springer; “this old snowstorm is going to balk us.”
Barker, his cap pulled low over his eyes and his body bent forward to catch the occasional red stains which could still be seen through the film of snow that had already fallen, strode on without comment.
And then, at the very edge of the next timber, they found the spot where Silver Tongue had been shot. Beyond that there was no trail of blood, but Piper, searching, quickly uttered a shout of satisfaction, bringing the others hurrying toward him.
“Here’s the scoundrel’s tracks!” cried Sleuth, pointing downward. “He was on snowshoes. He stood right here behind this bunch of cedars and fired at the dog.”
“No question about it,” agreed Barker grimly. “Now we must try to follow the tracks.”
It quickly became evident that, after doing the shooting, the unknown had made off in great haste, his long strides indicating this. The tracks followed the edge of the woods for some distance and then turned into an old path, along which the pursuers were able to make considerable speed—so much, indeed, that Sleuth, who had heretofore kept close at Barker’s heels, finally dropped, panting, behind Springer. As he fell back Piper called a warning to Berlin.
“If we catch him, be careful what you do, Barker, old man; don’t lose your head, for you’ve got a loaded gun in your hands.”