And just then Blackstock came abruptly to a halt, and held up his hand for his followers to stop.
"Steady, boys. Stop right where ye are, an' don't step out o' yer tracks," he commanded.
The four stood rigid, and began searching the ground all about them with keen, initiated eyes.
"Oh, I've got him, so fur, all right," continued Blackstock, pointing to a particularly clear and heavy impression of a boot-sole close behind his own feet. "But here it stops. It don't appear to go any further."
He knelt down to examine the footprint.
"P'raps he's doubled back on his tracks, to throw us off," suggested Saunders, who was himself an expert on the trails of all the wild creatures.
"No," replied Blackstock, "I've watched out for that sharp."
"P'raps he's give a big jump to one side or t'other, to break his trail," said MacDonald.
"No," said Blackstock with decision, "nor that neither, Mac. This here print is even. Ef he'd jumped to one side or the other, it would be dug in on that side, and ef he'd jumped forrard, it would be hard down at the toe. It fair beats me!"
Stepping carefully, foot by foot, he examined the ground minutely over a half circle of a dozen yards to his front. He sent out his followers—all but Big Andy, who, being no trailer, was bidden to stand fast—to either side and to the rear, crawling like ferrets and interrogating every grass tuft, in vain. The trail had simply stopped with that one footprint. It was as if Black Dan had dissolved into a miasma, and floated off.