Left to his own devices, he began a systematic scouting of the ground in the vicinity. The trail, baked hard by the sun, showed no signs, but across the ground in front of the palm-thatched hut he found distinct traces of recent hoof prints. Following them he came to a newly broken trail through the long grass leading to the thicker undergrowth beyond. Returning to the hut he pushed open the dilapidated door and entered the musty interior. The place was bare of furniture or utensils, a few bits of rubbish littered the floor and in one corner were several bottles and flasks, all empty. Picking up one and extracting the cork he found a strong smell of whisky. Evidently this was the rendezvous of those men from the ships recently found under the influence of liquor while on shore. Presently he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the trail. Probably members of the liberty party with whom he came ashore, thought Dick. "Say, Joe," he heard a voice question, "where do you suppose that marine was hot-footing it to?" "I dunno," answered the one addressed, "when he ducked past me he yelled something, but I didn’t get it, did you?" "Nuh! Glad he’s out of the way, ’cause him and the kid he runs with think they are some class. They’d put a crimp in our game if they got next to it." "Any of the others in sight?" Joe now asked as the two stopped beside the corner of the shack. "No; get a hustle on," and with that Dick heard the two speakers run past the front of his refuge and dash into the woods near the spot he had just been investigating. "The plot thickens!" mused Dick, looking at the empty bottle he still held. Again the sound of footsteps, but this time the men passed the shack without stopping. These men were bound for the beach at Flamingo Bay. At first the boy thought of calling them back, but on second consideration he decided not to. He preferred working out this affair with only Henry’s assistance. That very morning First Sergeant Douglass had given the marines a talk about the liquor traffic and asked them to try and trace it. He had said it would be a feather in their caps could they succeed in finding the guilty parties. For that reason, all the more honor if he and Henry carried it through by themselves. It seemed an interminable while before the soft patter apprised him of his companion’s return. As Henry reached the corner of the hut, Dick’s warning hiss attracted his attention to the open door. "Come in here, Hank," he called, and Henry entered, breathing hard from the grind of his strenuous race up-hill. While he dressed, Dick explained more fully about the drunken native and of what had transpired during Henry’s absence. The young trumpeter was equally enthusiastic over the prospect of an exciting adventure ahead of them and thoroughly agreed they alone could manage the business.