Already it had begun to grow dark, so that when they reached the ridge it was necessary to kindle the torches before anything could be ascertained.
“Here are the footsteps,” cried Karlsefin, after a brief search.
Leif, who was searching in another direction, hurried towards his friend, torch in hand.
“See, there is Olaf’s footprint on that soft ground,” said Karlsefin, moving slowly along, with the torch held low, “but there is no sign of Snorro’s little feet. Olaf always carried him—yet—ah! here they are on this patch of sand, look. They had halted here—probably to rest; perhaps to change Snorro’s position. I’ve lost them again—no! here they are, but only Olaf’s. He must have lifted the child again, no doubt.”
“Look here,” cried Leif, who had again strayed a little from his friend. “Are not these footsteps descending the ridge?”
Karlsefin hastily examined them.
“They are,” he cried, “and then they go down towards the wood—ay, into it. Without doubt Olaf has broken his promise; but let us make sure.”
A careful investigation convinced both parents that the children had entered that part of the forest, and that therefore all search in any other direction was useless. Karlsefin immediately re-ascended the ridge, and, putting both hands to his mouth, gave the peculiar halloo which had been agreed upon as the signal that some of the searchers had either found the children or fallen upon their tracks.
“You’ll have to give them another shout,” said Leif.
Karlsefin did so, and immediately after a faint and very distant halloo came back in reply.