"He passed here," said Skinny, "on time and going north, and he didn't pass through the Gingham Ground. We feel sure of that much. He must have turned off somewhere in the next half-mile." "We know something else," I told him. "He couldn't have turned east, because the river is in the way and there isn't any bridge." We made up our minds to separate, one party to work north from where we were standing; one to work south from the Gingham Ground, and the others to work in between, to see if we could find where he had left the road. "Look for a sign," said Skinny, "and look on the west side. There isn't much chance for finding footprints." Hank was the one who found it. We heard him yell and went to him on a run. He came out to the roadside and waited for us, waving his hat in the air, he was so excited; then, when we had come up, took us back from the road through a sort of lane, which pretty soon turned south and wound off through the woods. Just at the turn stood a big stone, out of sight from the road. That is why we had not seen it before. On the stone was something which set us all yelling. It was a circle and in the circle was the picture of a crow and there was an arrow. It was the Scout sign for "I took this path." The crow meant that whoever drew the sign belonged to Raven Patrol. We knew then that it was Bill. "We've got him," shouted Skinny. "He went through this way so as not to meet the Gang." It did look like that, but although we examined every inch of the way between there and the Gingham Ground, we couldn't find another sign of any kind. And we couldn't understand why he had not delivered the message to Mr. Jenks and come back home. Sorrowfully we made our way out to the sign again and sat down to rest and talk about what to do next. "Guess what!" said Benny, after a little. "That arrow doesn't point toward the Gingham Ground at all. It points straight back from the road. Let's go that way and see." There didn't seem to be much use in doing it, but we had to do something. "Come on," said Skinny, springing up. "He is somewhere; that's a cinch, and we know that he was all right when he drew that sign." We hurried along and soon struck a little path, up which we ran as fast as we could, for it was growing late. "Look for another sign," warned Skinny. "Scouts and Injuns always mark the paths they take." "Hurrah, here it is!" he shouted, a little farther on. When we had come up, he pointed to a stone, which had been placed in the middle of the path, with a smaller stone on top of it. It was the Indian sign for "This is the trail." We couldn't understand it, for it was leading away from North Adams. We hurried on, calling every now and then, but not a sound could we hear, except the birds and squirrels, and not another sign or track could we find.