He stepped forward carefully to the edge of the water and bent over to examine the soft, yellow clay which formed the border of the pool on the lower side. Instantly he straightened up with a sharp exclamation of surprise. "Did any negroes come in with you to recover the body?" he asked. "No," returned the sheriff, "as old man Tompkins said, you couldn't hire a nigger to stick his head in here after the Colonel was found. They say they can hear something wailing around the pool and they think his ghost is haunting it." "They can hear something wailing, can they?" Terry repeated queerly. "Well I begin to believe they can! What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, facing around at us. "How do you account for these peculiar foot-prints?" "What prints?" I asked as we all pressed forward. At the moment the calcium light with a final flare, died out, and we were left again in the flickering candle light which seemed darkness to us now. "Quick, touch off another calcium!" said Terry, with suppressed impatience. He laid a hand on my shoulder and my arm ached from the tightness of his grip. "There," he said pointing with his finger as the light flared up again. "What do you make of those?" I bent over and plainly traced the prints of bare feet, going and coming and over-lapping one another, just as an animal would make in pacing a cage. I shivered slightly. It was a terribly uncanny sight. "Well?" said Terry sharply. The place was beginning to get on his nerves too. "Terry," I said uneasily, "I never saw them before. I thought I examined everything thoroughly, but I was so excited I suppose--" "What did you make of them?" he interrupted, whirling about on Mattison who was looking over our shoulders. "I--I didn't see them," Mattison stammered. "For heaven's sake, men," said Terry impatiently. "Do you mean they weren't there or you didn't notice them?" The sheriff and I looked at each other blankly, and neither answered. Terry stood with his hands in his pockets frowning down at the marks, while the rest of us waited silently, scarcely daring to think. Finally he turned away without saying a word, and, motioning us to keep back, commenced examining the path which led up the incline. He mounted the three stone steps, and with his eyes on the ground, slowly advanced to the spot where the struggle had taken place. "How tall a man did you say Mose was?" he called down to us. "Little short fellow--not more than five feet high," returned the sheriff. Terry took his ruler from his pocket and bent over to study the marks at the scene of the struggle. He straightened up with an air of satisfaction. "Now I want you men to look carefully at those marks on the lower borders of the pool, and then come up here and look at these. Come along up in single file, please, and keep to the middle of the path." He spoke in the tone of one giving a demonstration before a kindergarten class. We obeyed him silently and ranged in a row along the boards.