As Tug Blackstock had foreseen, the trail of the fugitive was easily picked up. Confident in his powers as a runaway, Black Dan's sole object, at first, had been to gain as much lead as possible over the expected pursuit, and he had run straight ahead, leaving a trail which any one of Blackstock's posse--with the exception, perhaps, of Big Andy--could have followed with almost the speed and precision of the Deputy himself. There had been no attempt at concealment. About five miles back, however, in the heavy woods beyond the head of the Lake, it appeared that the fugitive had dropped into a walk and begun to go more circumspectly. The trail now grew so obscure that the other woodsmen would have had difficulty in deciphering it at all, and they were amazed at the ease and confidence with which Blackstock followed it up, hardly diminishing his stride. "Tug is sure some trailer," commented Jackson, his good humour now quite restored by the progress they were making. "_Jim_ couldn't 'a' done no better himself," declared Big Andy, the Oromocto man. And just then Blackstock came abruptly to a halt, and held up his hand for his followers to stop. "Steady, boys. Stop right where ye are, an' don't step out o' yer tracks," he commanded. The four stood rigid, and began searching the ground all about them with keen, initiated eyes. "Oh, I've got him, so fur, all right," continued Blackstock, pointing to a particularly clear and heavy impression of a boot-sole close behind his own feet. "But here it stops. It don't appear to go any further." He knelt down to examine the footprint. "P'raps he's doubled back on his tracks, to throw us off," suggested Saunders, who was himself an expert on the trails of all the wild creatures. "No," replied Blackstock, "I've watched out for that sharp." "P'raps he's give a big jump to one side or t'other, to break his trail," said MacDonald. "No," said Blackstock with decision, "nor that neither, Mac. This here print is even. Ef he'd jumped to one side or the other, it would be dug in on that side, and ef he'd jumped forrard, it would be hard down at the toe. It fair beats me!" Stepping carefully, foot by foot, he examined the ground minutely over a half circle of a dozen yards to his front. He sent out his followers--all but Big Andy, who, being no trailer, was bidden to stand fast--to either side and to the rear, crawling like ferrets and interrogating every grass tuft, in vain. The trail had simply stopped with that one footprint. It was as if Black Dan had dissolved into a miasma, and floated off. At last Blackstock called the party in, and around the solitary footprint they all sat down and smoked. One after another they made suggestions, but each suggestion had its futility revealed and sealed by a stony stare from Blackstock, and was no more befriended by its author. At last Blackstock rose to his feet, and gave a hitch to his belt.