Hugh knew what this meant. The tracker of animals was looking for signs of the invaders. If the ground beneath the window happened to be in any way soft, they must have left some sort of trail behind them that would give a clue.
Ralph turned his head so that he could speak to the scout master. He seemed to understand that Hugh would be hovering close behind him, anxious to hear his opinion.
“Yes, there are marks below, Hugh; and we can climb out here much easier than bothering to go around,” was what Ralph said eagerly, for he was like a hound being held in the leash when scenting the game, and those marks beyond the window seemed to be beckoning to him to come on and investigate.
“All right,” said Hugh, promptly, “tumble out, and I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”
Not waiting for further permission, Ralph made his way through the opening. To an agile scout it was merely next to nothing, for the ground lay only a few feet below the window.
Hugh followed after him, to hear a quick warning:
“Wait, don’t drop just there, Hugh; you’ll spoil the best of the tracks. Reach around and get your foot on this board; now swing around, and there you are!”
No sooner had the scout master effected a landing than the two boys were bending over, with the shaft of white light from the hand torch illuminating the earth directly under the window. From the opening above them two heads were thrust—those of the deeply interested sheriff and the anxious millionaire, who were watching to ascertain what was about to happen.
Ralph was pointing to certain marks, and calling the attention of his comrade to the fact that they differed from others.
“Remember that footprint with the square toe, Hugh; that’s one man’s trademark. Now, here’s a second that’s entirely different; this fellow wears a pointed shoe, you see, and is more of a dude than the first. Now, if I could only find—well, talk about luck, will you—look at this! A third footprint, and as different from both the other as black is from white.”