“Tracks!” he muttered. “There were two of them—two of them! And here’s the proof that our man was one!”
He picked up a lump of half frozen clay which plainly had fallen from the boot of a man. It was the sort of clay into which the fugitive had slumped when the brook bank gave way beneath his feet.
“You’re a wonder, Pipe,” declared Roy, his admiration unrestrained at last.
“Spare the compliments,” said Sleuth briskly. “We’re off again.”
The trail led through the orchard, beyond which it was plain enough in the hoarfrost which covered the ground.
“And these tracks weren’t made so long ago, either,” asserted Piper. “It won’t be so easy to follow them after we get into the woods. Too bad.”
In truth, it was not an easy matter, and they were proceeding with exasperating slowness when of a sudden Piper whirled and clutched his companion, exclaiming in a hoarse whisper:
“Hark! Some one coming! Get to cover, Hooker—lively!”
Near by was a fallen tree. Sleuth cleared it with a bound, flinging himself down behind the thick trunk. His example was followed by Roy, and there, amid a mass of leaves which the wind had swept into a little hollow, they knelt, peering over the fallen tree.
Barely were they thus hidden when another boy came crashing at a run through some bushes and appeared in full view.