“Then how can he waste his time—and that goes for you too—in silly chatter—why not start something—”
“Yes? and what—”
“Action’s what’s needed, and spelled with a capital A!”
Bill smiled crookedly. “And what kind of action, spelled with a capital A, do you suggest?”
“I’ve heard that he can trail anything that runs. Those men had to leg it out of here. Why doesn’t he follow them, for heaven’s sake, if he’s such a star at that sort of thing?”
“My dear young lady, Osceola has been three jumps ahead of you all the time. He knows that those tracks will only lead through your grounds out to the road. I don’t know where you got your ideas of trailing but no man, red, white, black or yellow, can follow another’s trail on an automobile highway. Dirt roads are one thing, tar or solid concrete are something else again!”
Dorothy looked discomfited. “I never thought of that,” she said.
“You see, Osceola doesn’t know where to turn next. Neither do I, and for a matter of fact, neither do you.”
For a moment she stared at him and Bill braced himself for a flood of tears. Instead she ran to him and caught his arm.
“Bill—I’m so darned sorry—I—”