“Shut up and come outside,” Warde whispered emphatically. He picked up Blythe’s coat and, tiptoeing, led the way out into the night. “He hasn’t gone away,” he said more freely. “Don’t you see this coat? Do you think he’d go away without his coat? Stick your flashlight here, quick; here’s our chance.”
Warde held the collar of the poor threadbare coat close to Roy’s light. There, on the inside was sewn a little cloth square on which was printed:
DOMINION CLOTHING CO.
QUEBEC, CANADA.
“I see,” Roy whispered, not knowing what he said.
“Give me the light and wait a second–shh,” said Warde.
Before Roy knew it Warde had re-entered the shack and was folding and replacing the coat where he had found it. In a kind of daze Roy saw the bright spot near the empty balsam couch, saw his companion’s quick, silent movements, saw the scouts lying asleep in the dim light. Then all was darkness within and he saw no more.
“Did you feel in the pockets?” Roy asked as they betook themselves through the darkness to a safe distance. He still whispered, though there was no need of it now. He was nervous, agitated.
“No, I’m not in that line of business,” said Warde.
“I guess he’s Claude Darrell all right,” said Roy. “What shall we do? Try to find him? There’s that voice again. Do you hear it? It’s over there–west.”
“Not find him but follow him,” said Warde. “If we can.”