“Are we still under arrest?” laughed Sam.
“Technically—yes,” returned Ashe. “I want your word of honor that all will report to the sergeant within a week’s time.”
“You have it,” said Dave, calmly. “I suppose we shall run across Bob Somers before then.”
At this remark the boys’ thoughts were turned into another channel. Their apprehensions returned. Tom walked over to the window and poked his head outside, to see that the long streamers of whitish mist were being gradually driven away by the rays of the rising sun. But in whatever direction he looked empty stretches alone met his eye.
The troopers, accompanied by the boys, were soon outside searching for clues. In this the young Cree was of material assistance. Near the base of the hill, on a stretch of bare earth, he pointed out the imprints of a horse’s hoofs so sharp and clear as to indicate a rapid pace. A bit further along a small bush was partly flattened.
“Tracks fresh,” said Thunderbolt. “Him go up hill.”
“Two of you had better ride in that direction, while the others scout about over the prairie,” said Ashe to his men.
On returning to the ranch-house the trooper, aided by Witmar, made a thorough search for contraband goods. None, however, were found.
“A slick lot!” exclaimed the former. “I reckon, though, they’ll never pull off any more of their tricks around these parts. Now, fellows, we must be off.”
“Where to?” asked Sam.