ON THE TRAIL.
“Could we look into the room where the boy was asleep at the time he was
stolen?” asked Hugh; and the sheriff at once manifested a desire to lead
the way, Mr. Campertown following after them slowly, as though it pained
him to see the empty cot upon which little Reuben had been left lying.
It was not much of a room, after all, and had only one window. The boys
did not bother asking what it had been originally used for in connection
with the offices of the big works; that was a matter that apparently had
no connection with the present.
Just as the sheriff had told them, two cots were in evidence. One of
these was still undisturbed, and had evidently been intended for the use
of the millionaire when he chose to retire, after concluding to remain
on his property for a night, now that the authorities had taken charge.
“This is the cot where the boy lay,” the sheriff told them, at the same
time pointing to the second bed, where the sheet and blanket had been
thrown aside, and it could be seen that a small head had pressed on the
pillow.
Hugh and Ralph just glanced around them, and then turned their gaze on
the one window the room could boast. It was open, as they had already
been advised. After securing possession of the child, the unknown
kidnappers had not thought it worth while to try and hide the route by
which they had entered and left the room.
Ralph stepped over at once to that window. Leaning across the sill, he
undoubtedly must have pressed the button of the hand electric torch he
had borrowed from a brother scout, for a little glow could be seen
without.
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.”
“Ralph, you’re right,” assented the pleased scout master, “that man is
wearing old shoes, and one of them seems to have a torn sole, for it
makes a queer mark every time he puts a foot down. See here, and here,
you can notice it.”
“One, two, three, all told,” said Ralph, with thrilling emphasis. “Hugh,
doesn’t that just seem to fit in with my theory to a dot?”
“There were that many of the ugly guards came back, for a fact,”
admitted Hugh.
“I’ve settled that part of it without a question,” said the other boy
firmly; “and now the things we’ve still got to figure out are, what
object these desperate men had in view when they stole the boy; and how
can we find them?”
“Good for you, son!” chuckled the interested sheriff, leaning from the
open window. “I want to say that this is worth all the trip out here to
learn. My two men never bothered looking for tracks; they asked some
questions, and then went hurrying off, saying they believed they knew
where the dagoes had taken the boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re
wasting their time over at the settlement rummaging around.”
Neither of the boys took much notice of this praise from the sheriff.
The fact of the matter was they were too deeply engrossed in the
carrying out of their plan of campaign to bother with side issues. After
it was all over, no doubt, they might feel highly gratified to hear such
expressions of appreciation from an officer of the law.
“I’ll step around and fetch the rest of the boys,” suggested Hugh,
“while you’re making a start along the trail, Ralph.”
“Wish you would, Hugh,” muttered the other, already moving off, and
bending low, as he followed the tracks with his practised eye.
So the scout master speedily appeared in the midst of the other members
of the troop, who, with Nurse Jones, had been impatiently waiting just
outside the office. Of course all of them were rather surprised when
Hugh spoke, for they had believed him inside the building all this time.
“We’ve found the trail,” he told them quickly, and thinking it best that
every one should know the facts without delay, Hugh went on to add:
“There were three of the abductors, just the same number of guards Ralph
saw hiding in the brush and watching the plant this afternoon. Come
along with me, all of you!”
“Good! We’re off!” Bud Morgan was heard to mutter.
Trooping at the heels of their leader they quickly rounded the building.
“What’s that moving along over there?” asked Whistling Smith, who had
suddenly discovered a strange sort of glow apparently creeping close to
the ground within the stockade, and looking very uncanny.
“Why, don’t you know? That’s our chum, Ralph, and he’s using that bully
little hand torch Monkey Stallings loaned him,” Billy Worth hastened to
inform the other.
They soon came up with Ralph, who had stopped close to the stockade.
“Here’s where they got in and out, Hugh,” the tracker was saying, as he
pointed to where there was a gap in the barricade, a heavy plank having
been removed.
“As like as not those rascals arranged all this before they left the
place,” observed Hugh, as he saw the missing plank lying on the ground
close by. “They figured that they’d want to come back for _something_,
and this board was left hanging loosely so that, while it looked all
right, it could be removed with half an effort.”
There was nothing strange about the way the scout master figured this
out. His training had sharpened his wits and enabled him to solve what
might have been a bit of a mystery to some boys. But then it is part of
a scout’s business to use reason and judgment, and this was what both
Hugh and Ralph were doing.
“It looks more and more as if my guess had hit the bull’s-eye right in
the center,” Ralph was saying, half to himself, in a satisfied way.
“About the three men, you mean of course, Ralph,” Hugh remarked. “Yes,
none of us will ever look at it any other way now. Crawl through, and
we’ll follow you. This is the first stage of the tracking game; if the
rest pans out as well, I can see victory in the air!”
Such confident words did much to inspire all of them with renewed vigor.
Looking around after they had passed beyond the stockade, the boys could
see little save the gloom of the night; but the faith they felt in their
leaders did much to make this seem less appalling.
In several places, though, some of them began to notice moving lights
that looked like jack-o’-lanterns in a graveyard or a marsh.
“What d’ye make them out to be, Alec?” asked Blake Merton of the scout
who happened to be next to him at the time.
“Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were some of the strikers hunting
all around to see if they can find the lost boy,” Alec replied. “Then
again it may be that several of the sheriff’s posse, learning about that
fat reward Mr. Campertown has offered for the safe return of little
Reuben, and no questions asked, have organized a searching party. Five
thousand dollars will spur most men to doing stunts, let me tell you,
Blake.”
“I should say, yes!” declared the other, with a sigh, as though he could
picture quite a few glorious things that might come his way should a
kind fortune allow him to win that prize, which, however, was too good
to be true.
Meanwhile Ralph, with Hugh close beside him, was in the van, carefully
following the trail. It seemed a most fortunate thing that when the
abductors of the child made off, bearing their sleeping burden with
them, they avoided the customary path made by the men in coming to and
going from work.
This fear of meeting someone caused the three men to pass over fallow
ground where their footprints were apt to be more readily seen.
As the cluster of scouts followed as close as they thought expedient,
they were watching every motion of the leaders, expressing their
appreciation among themselves in whispered comments.
“I guess after all, Billy, you’ll admit right now our chum Ralph is as
good at the business as any trail dog you could scare up!” Alec told the
other.
“That’s what I think, too,” added Bud Morgan, with emphasis. “Just see
how he keeps that eagle eye of his glued on the ground; and notice that
we’re moving forward right fast in the bargain.”
“Ralph Kenyon is all to the good!” said another enthusiastic scout.
Of course, under all this heavy fire, Billy felt that he’d better throw
up his hands and surrender.
“No use talking, fellows,” he told them, “seems like we’d have mighty
little use for one of those hounds as long as we’ve got Ralph to pin to.
He’s learned his lesson to a dot. Unless we meet with a setback, it’s
going to be all up with that crowd.”
“A bunch of scouts like ours ought to be able to handle three men, I
should say,” ventured Tom Sherwood.
“Especially when they’re likely to be cowards at heart!” added Jack
Dunham.
“What makes you think that?” demanded Whistling Smith. “Seems to me
Ralph said they looked like a tough lot of fellows.”
“All the same,” the other went on to say defiantly, as though he knew he
was right, and meant to stick to his assertion, “any set of men who
would steal away an innocent little chap like that Reuben, must be
cowards at heart, no matter how much they try to bluster and make out to
be bullies.”
“Good for you, Jack,” Alec Sands put in. “I back you up in saying that.
When it comes to a show-down, you mark me they’ll run before they think
of trying to stand before our crowd.”
The idea rather pleased most of the scouts. They were not inclined to be
ferocious at all, though perhaps some of them would feel disappointed
unless they had a chance to get at least one whack at the scoundrels who
had stolen the boy. This could be understood from the nervous manner in
which they handled those various cudgels with which they had armed
themselves before quitting the camp.