“I don’t believe another man in the town ever wore a pair of boots such as made these prints,” murmured Darrin excitedly.  “And they’re headed away from the river, toward the railroad!  And look here—–­other footprints of a different kind!”

“You’re right!” cried Prescott, holding the lantern closer to the ground and scanning some additional marks in the soil.  “Coarse shoes; one pair of ’em brogans!  Mr. Dodge had companions when he went away from here.”

“They may have been forcing the man somewhere with them,” quivered Darrin, staring off into the black night about them.

“No; not a sign of a struggle,” argued Dick, still with his gaze on the ground.  “No matter who Mr. Dodge’s companions were, he went with them willingly.  Gracious, Dave, but we were right in believing the banker to be still alive!  Coat and hat at the water’s edge were a blind!  Mr. Dodge has his own reasons for wanting people to think him dead.  He has sloped away.  Here’s the track.  Which way did he and the fellows go?”

“Away from Gridley,” declared Darrin, sagely.  “Otherwise, Mr. Dodge would have been seen by some one who would remember him.”

“We’ll go up along the track, then.”

This they did, but the roadbed was hard.  Besides, anyone walking on the ties would leave no trail.  It was slow work, holding the lantern close to the ground and scanning every step, besides swinging the lantern out to light up either side of their course.  Yet both lads were so tremendously interested that they pushed on, heedless of the flight of time.

They had gone a mile or more up the track, “inching” it along, when they came upon an unmistakable print of Mr. Dodge’s oddly pointed boot and narrow, high heel.  They found, too, the print of a brogan within six feet of the same point.

“This is the way Dodge and his queer companions came,” exulted Dave.

“But I don’t believe they followed the track much further,” argued Prescott, pointing ahead at the signal lights of a small crossing station.  “If Mr. Dodge were trying to get away from public gaze he wouldn’t go by a station where usually half a dozen loungers are smoking and talking with the station agent.”

“We’re lucky to have the trail this far,” observed Dave Darrin.  “But we can’t follow it accurately at night.  Say—–­gracious!  Do you know what time it is?  Half-past one in the morning!”

“Wow?” ejaculated Prescott, halting and looking dismayed.  “It’ll take us a good many minutes to get back to where we left the horse.  It’ll be after two o’clock when we hit ‘The Blade’ office.  Dave, we simply can’t follow the trail further tonight.  But we must strike it first thing in the morning.  It’ll be a big thing for ‘The Blade’ to be the folks to find the missing banker and clear the mystery up.”

“Unless Dodge just kept on until he came to one of the stations, and took a train.  Then the trail would be a long one.”