“I can’t make much out of it,” Stanley said at last, stopping before Allan. “Let’s look around the neighbourhood a little.” The track, at this point, ran along a shallow cut, the bank on either side rising to a height of two or three feet. The right of way, about twenty-five feet in width, was bordered by rail fences, and back of them was a stretch of scrubby woodland. Stanley, walking slowly along the bank on the left, stopped suddenly and pointed to the ground. “Look at that,” he said. “There’s been a wagon here. Two wagons,” he added, a moment later, pointing to other traces. “To take the prisoners away in,” ventured Allan. “Maybe, maybe,” muttered his companion. “And maybe to take something else away in. Let’s see where they went.” The tracks could be followed without difficulty in the soft earth. They led to a break in one of the fences and on through the strip of woodland to a road on the farther side. There they turned westward and were lost amid the ruts of the road. “Well,” said Stanley, stopping and looking along it, “I think, if you don’t mind, that I’d like to spend a day or two trying to run those fellows down. I don’t see that I’m needed back at Wadsworth—everything’s quiet there, and my men know their business. Besides, you can keep an eye on them. This affair kind of worries me. There’s more in it than appears on the surface. What do you say?” “All right,” Allan agreed. “I’d like to have this thing cleared up. Do you think you can do it?” “I can try, anyway,” said Stanley. “And I’ll start right away. I don’t want the trail to get any colder. Good by.” “Good by,” said Allan; “and good luck.” He stood watching Stanley’s gaunt figure until it disappeared around a turn in the road, wishing absurdly that he could go along; then he turned eastward toward the little station of Schooley’s, a mile or more away. The road was one evidently not much used, for it was rutted and uneven and in poor repair. The fall and winter rains had washed it badly, and evidently no effort had been made to repair it. In fact, it soon grew so bad that Allan began to doubt whether it was anything more than a private road. The trees on either side grew closer and closer to it, there was no vestige of a fence, and after a time it became apparent that its direction had changed so that it was not leading him toward Schooley’s at all. A glance at the sun showed him that it was past midday, and his stomach began to warn him that he had eaten nothing since breakfast early that morning.