"Well," said the king of the motor boys, "what's done can't be helped, and we'd better be about our business with Bunce. But what's become of the mariner? He ought to be around here, somewhere."
"He's ducked," returned McGlory, "and I'll bet it's for good. We've found out he had a pair of good eyes, and he's got shy of us."
"If we don't find him," mused Matt, "it's a clear case that he was playing double with us. If we do find him, then we can take a little more stock in what he tells us about Tsan Ti. It will be worth something to feel sure, either way."
"Maybe you're right, but how are we going to pick up the webfoot's trail?"
Matt studied the ground. The earth was soft from a recent rain, and the fact gave him an idea.
"Track him, Joe. You're used to that sort of thing. Put your knowledge to some account."
"In order to track the mariner," said McGlory, "we'll have to go back to the place where we saw him duck into the timber. It'll be a tough job, but I'm willing to try if we can once pick up the trail."
"That's the only thing for us to do. If Bunce was intending to deal squarely with us, he'd have shown himself before this."
"Let's see," mused the cowboy. "He said that Grattan was hiding out about five miles from Catskill, didn't he?"
"Yes."