CHAPTER V.

THE TELL-TALE TRACKS.

“Dynamite!” echoed Giraffe as his face blanched. “And the silly was just goin’ to give it a heave into the fire. Great governor! what would have happened to the Silver Fox Patrol if he had?”

“Please don’t mention it, Giraffe,” said poor Step Hen, weakly, “However was I to know what it was, when I hadn’t ever seen such a thing before in all my life?”

“Well,” remarked Thad, grimly, “that’s the time you should have remembered that a scout must always be prepared to think for himself, and observe too. I heard something of what was said as I stood here, watching. You had guessed easily enough that these were the tools with which bank burglars break into safes. And since you read the papers, Step Hen, you must surely know that they often use dynamite to burst open the lock of a safe. You never stopped to think, that’s the trouble. All you had to do would be to say to yourself, ‘now, what would thieves be likely to have this for, because it must enter into their business?’ and the chances were ten to one you’d have guessed it, right away. Think twice after this, Step Hen, before you do a rash thing like that.”

The scoutmaster spoke more sternly than was his wont when dealing with those who were under his charge; because he had been horrified and thrilled when he realized the terrible danger that hovered over them all, should Step Hen manage to give the innocent looking stick a toss into the fire, before he could leap alongside, and stay his arm.

Perhaps the dynamite might not have exploded before he could with a frantic effort dislodge it from the burning brands; but the chances of its going off were legion, and he could never afterwards think of the incident without a shudder.

“I’ll try and remember, Thad,” said Step Hen, meekly, for he was shivering now, because of the narrow escape he and his chums had had.

Thad, on his part, carefully placed the dangerous explosive in the crotch of a tree near by, where it could do no harm.

“We’d better bury it in the morning, to get rid of it,” he observed, as he sat down to examine the odd looking assortment of little tools, for himself.

The others gathered around, curious to hear what Thad’s opinion might be; for they were used to setting considerable store by his decisions on any subject.

“How d’ye s’pose now, Thad,” remarked Giraffe, to draw the other out, “these fellers just came to stop over here, in the identical place we chose for a camp? That what’s getting me.”

“Oh that’s easy,” replied the other, with a little laugh. “We seemed to strike this place by accident; but I reckon that if you asked Eli or Jim here about it, they’d be apt to tell you it’s an old camping spot. How about it, men?”

“Be’n here often with parties,” replied the older guide, promptly. “Seen hundreds o’ fine trout jerked outen thet pool over there.”

“Me tew,” declared Jim, grinning broadly at finding how smart this boy seemed to be.

“There you are, Giraffe,” Thad went on to say, turning once more to the scout. “Perhaps, as somebody said only a little while back, this leader of the sprinting yeggmen has himself been camping here one or more times in the past, and he knows the trails of the woods around here. Why, there’s a pretty good chance that Mr. Carson himself stopped here over night, something like a week or less ago.”

“But he didn’t find that bag, nor his guides either,” remarked Step Hen, with a little show of pride; as though he believed he ought to at least have a small amount of credit for bringing the thing to light.

“For a good reason,” Thad went on; “because it wasn’t in the bushes when Mr. Carson came along this way.”

“You think, then, that the fellers who owned these things must have been here after Mr. Carson was, do you, Thad?” Davy Jones asked.

“I’ve a good notion that way,” the scoutmaster replied; “and we’re going to prove it, presently. There are lots of ways to do that, you’ll find; and if Allan and I happen to fall down, why, we’ll call on Sebattis here to show us. Allan tells me that an Indian can read signs just like you would print, Davy.”

“Like to see him try it, then,” muttered the scout, casting a side glance toward the silent Penobscot brave, who was sitting there watching them, and never so much as opening his mouth, or betraying any particular interest, though he must have heard every word that had been spoken thus far.

“After we’ve had a hack at it, we may,” Thad admitted. “You know Allan is up to some of these things, and we ought to give him a show before calling in outside talent; isn’t that so, boys?”

“Sure it is,” cried Bumpus; “and it’s my private opinion, publicly expressed, that our comrade can deliver the goods too. Give Allan a square deal. Let him ‘mosey’ around, and say what he thinks. Then we’ll ask the guides to prove it. That’s the ticket, fellers. An’ he can’t begin any too soon to satisfy my bump of curiosity. They do say at my house I’m a reg’lar old woman for wantin’ to know; and I must acknowledge the corn all right. Won’t you get busy, Allan, and relieve a sufferin’ public?”

Thus appealed to, the Maine boy could not resist. “Of course I’m not saying I can tell you all that either of these guides might—not to mention Sebattis here,” he remarked, “but I’ll do the best I can.”

“Reckon that’s about nigh all anybody can do,” observed Giraffe, also getting to his feet; for he was more or less interested in any demonstration of woodcraft that applied to Boy Scout knowledge.

“Of course I know what the footprint of every one of us looks like, even to our guides,” began Allan; “because I’ve made it my business to keep my eyes around. And the first thing I’m going to do is to find out if there is any track here different from ours. If I find that, I’ll be pretty sure it was made by others who camped here within the last night or two.”

“But why do you say that?” demanded Bumpus, eagerly. “What if Mr. Carson did stop here five, six or even seven nights ago; you might run on his track, you know.”

“If I did, I’d know it,” replied Allan; “not that I’ve even set eyes on the print of his hunting shoe or boot, if he wears such, instead of moccasins; but stop and remember, Bumpus we had a heavy rain day before yesterday that must have passed over this section as well as where we struck it. After that it turned cold.”

“Oh! I forgot all about that,” admitted the other scout, looking foolish. “Why, of course, that same rain would have washed out the footprints of anybody who had camped here as long ago as four or five nights. That’s right Allan.”

“If it didn’t exactly wash the footprints out, it would make them look faint; and a trailer would soon know they were old. Now let me take a turn around, and do the rest of you sit quiet here, till I call out that I’ve found something.”

He took a blazing brand from the fire, and began to move around the outskirts of the camp, beyond the tents and the glow of the fire.

“Why does he go so far away?” asked Bumpus.

“Because we’ve been walking around here so much that all chance of making any discovery would be lost,” replied Thad; “and out there he may stand a show. There, I can see him stoop down lower, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d hit a footprint right away.”

The others all craned their necks in order to see what Allan was doing; and of course Giraffe had them left far in the lurch when it came to this, on account of his being gifted by a bountiful Nature with such an exceedingly long ostrich like appendage below his head.

“Yes, he’s sure struck something,” Giraffe declared, as though anxious to show what an advantage it was sometimes to be the possessor of a neck that was longer than any of the others.

“There, he’s beckoning to us to come on over, fellers!” exclaimed Bumpus, as he tried to leap to his feet; but, owing to his weight, this was never an easy thing for him, and he did not refuse the helping hand Thad stretched out.

So they joined Allan, as he stood there, holding his torch near the ground.

“What you found?” asked Giraffe, as they came up.

“Here’s a print, all right, that seems altogether different from any of ours. I can show you that the shoe has been patched across the toe, and none of ours has such a mark. It’s a fresh print too, and that means the man who made it must have been here since that rain storm. Is that clear enough for you, boys?”

“It’s a cinch, that’s what, Allan. Why, I’m only a tenderfoot scout, but I can understand that much. And I’m real glad to know it, too. We want to take a good look at that shoe print, fellers; p’raps we might want to know it again sometime.”

Step Hen as he said this threw himself down on the ground, and seemed to be making a mental photograph of the impression.

“How d’ye reckon they got here, Allan; by boat, or through the woods direct?” asked Thad, as though he had himself been pondering over that question, without being able to connect, as yet.

“Let’s take a look along the edge of the river,” remarked the Maine boy. “If so be they had a canoe, we ought to be able to see where it was pulled up on the little beach down here. Such a mark would stay a long time unless the water rose, and I don’t think that happened here, not over half a foot, anyhow.”

So once more they walked after Allan, who was soon examining the shore close to the edge of the water.

“There’s a mark you can all see, that looks as if a boat had been pulled up, but it’s old and faint. The rain has nearly washed it out. Do any of you glimpse signs of another scratch that’s fresher?”

Allan’s purpose, of course, was to make his chums think they were having a hand in the search. Then, when telling the story afterwards, they could say “when _we_ had hunted all along the shore, and didn’t find any fresh sign, we knew that the yeggs must sure have walked all the way through the woods.”

There was a little hustle as Giraffe, Davy, Step Hen and Bumpus all endeavored to earn the right to include themselves in the affair; after which they united in declaring that no further signs lay along the little beach.

“Well, we’ve settled that part of it pretty cleverly, I guess,” Thad declared, as he smiled at Allan.

“It was one of the easiest jobs I ever tackled,” declared the other.

“Wonder which way they went when they left here?” Bumpus remarked.

“Now, just don’t bother your head about that, Bumpus,” said Step Hen. “You’re letting your envious mind think of that fat reward again; but you’d better forget it, Thad says.”

“Oh! if they were making toward the Canada border,” observed Allan, “why, of course they headed north after leaving here.”

“And so are we,” was all Bumpus allowed himself to say in reply; but the look he gave Step Hen was sufficient to announce that he did not mean to wholly relinquish all idea that somehow, some time, they might yet run across the fugitives, and be able to capture them handsomely.

The boys started back to the fire. Some of them were even settled down close to the cheerful blaze, warming themselves, and ready to talk some more about the strange thing that had happened. Bumpus was kicking his toe into the earth, as if some object had attracted his attention. All at once he swooped down, and then gave utterance to an excited ejaculation.

“Looky at what I got, fellers!” he exclaimed hurrying up to the fire.

“Money, real hard money!” cried Step Hen, enviously. “Where’d you dig that up, Bumpus? Say, p’raps there’s more like it buried there. Mebbe we’ll strike a gold mine, and go home millionaires, every one.”

For Bumpus was holding a bright new five dollar gold piece in his hand, at which they all stared with more or less delight.

“I saw it shinin’ and gave a little kick at the place, thinkin’ it might be a piece of glass, or some old tin cut off a can. Then it broke loose from the frozen dirt, and I saw this little beauty,” Bumpus was saying, in rapture.

“Easy money!” grunted Giraffe, enviously; while Step Hen darted over to see if he might not be as lucky, though only to meet with bitter disappointment.

“That seems to settle one thing, boys,” remarked Thad. “Those rascals did rob a bank before they took to the woods. And the stuff they got was so heavy to carry, they just had to throw away their tools here. That looks plain enough, don’t it?”

All of them agreed that it did sound very much that way. Indeed, Davy Jones remarked that he considered them very sensible men, because he himself would only too gladly get rid of some old steel tools, if he had a chance to carry a bag of gold coins along.

Ten minutes later, as they were talking and laughing there, never thinking how late the hour was getting, and that they ought to be seeking their blankets under the shelter of the two tents, Sebattis was seen to quietly reach out his hand, and pick up his gun, after which he slipped away.

The boys exchanged glances, but made no remark. Another ten minutes passed by, when there came a startling interruption to the peaceful quiet of the camp. From some point near by a harsh voice suddenly sounded, thrilling the scouts as they could seldom remember being shaken:

“Throw up your hands, there, every one of you, and see that you keep ’em raised, if you know what’s good for you!”

And at the same moment three men issued from the recesses of the woods, and advanced toward them, all of whom held leveled guns in their hands.