“Ginger will show you,” Henley cut in. “He can trail him like breaking sticks. He’s some dog. Mr. Carter, some dog. Wait a bit and I’ll show you. Gimme one of Gordon’s shoes.” “By Jove, that’s a good idea, Henley.” Nick cried, as if he had not thought of it. “He can get the scent from this, perhaps, as you suggest. I ought to have been wise to that.” “Here you, Ginger, come here,” Henley growled harshly. “Come here, you rascal.” The hound bounded through the bushes and cringed at his master’s feet. Henley seized him by the scruff of the neck and held to his nostrils the shoe the detective had given him, then pointed to the larger of the imprints in the ground. “Get after him, Ginger!” he commanded, producing a leather strap and hooking it to the dog’s collar. “Follow him up! After him, Ginger, you rascal!” The hound brightened up and appeared to know what was wanted. He began to bark, until Henley cuffed him fiercely, and then he thrust his muzzle to the ground, whining and eagerly tugging hard on the leather leash. Henley seized his shotgun from the ground where he had placed it, crying gruffly: “I told you, Carter. He’s got the scent. Come on at my heels. Ginger’ll trail him.” “By Jove, I believe you are right, Henley,” Nick cried, following. “I know I’m right. He’s some dog, sir, some dog.” “Some dog, Henley, no mistake.” “Can you stick close?” “Bet you!” said Nick, as both plunged on after the hound. “You can’t go too fast for me.” “Sing out if I do.” “I’ll hang on, all right. Want me to carry your gun?” “Not much!” growled Henley. “I’m used to this ’ere business.” “Gordon evidently went round the pond, instead of back to the crossroad.” “That’s so. He most likely was heading for the other road.” “It looks so, for fair.” “Ginger’ll trail him. Leave it to Ginger.” The hound was plunging on all the while, with his muzzle to the ground, and was shaping a course through the woods and around the south side of the pond. “Plainly enough, whoever planted this evidence wore the shoes Gordon had been wearing,” thought Nick, tramping rapidly on behind Henley. “That’s evidence enough, too, that he now is in the hands of this rascal’s confederates. It would be like Mortimer Deland not to overlook a point as essential as that. Where will the trail end? That’s the question.” It then was, in fact, almost the only important question in Nick Carter’s mind. He felt that he had a correct answer for all of the others. He was not left long in uncertainty, however, for the trail was not a very long one. Ten minutes brought them to a narrow road on the south side of the pond, though a quarter mile from it, and the hound started off to the left without a moment’s hesitation.