“An excellent idea,” approved the guardian.

Janus glanced at Jim and nodded.  “I told you so,” chuckled the guide.  “I knew she could suggest something.”

Janus gathered up some roots, whittling one end of each stick into a sunflower-like bunch of shavings.  These ends he lighted, whereat the torches flared up into flickering, smoking flames.  The guide led the way, followed by the entire Meadow-Brook party, Margery Brown having become so interested as to forget her troubles for the moment, though the lump on her head was still large and painful.

Just before reaching the trees where the horses had been tied, Miss Elting suggested that all save the guide and Harriet stop where they were.

“If so many of us go forward we shall not only be likely to miss any clues there are, but perhaps destroy them altogether.  I have an idea that we are going to find something that will enlighten us,” she added.

“That’s good, common sense,” agreed the guide, nodding his approval.

“Is there anything you wish us to do, Mr. Grubb?” asked Miss Elting.

“Little Brownie is the pilot,” replied Janus jocularly, waving a hand in Harriet Burrell’s direction.  “Whatever she suggests, we will do.  We can’t do any better than to follow her lead.”

Harriet’s cheeks flushed.  She had taken a torch and began slowly to circle the trees to which the horses had been tied upon arriving at the camp site.  At first her circle was a wide one, Janus following her example by beginning well out beyond the trees.  Harriet’s smoking torch was held close to the ground, sweeping from side to side, the torch bearer assuming a crouching position with head well lowered, body bent almost double.

“Look out!” shouted Tommy, as Harriet came abreast of her party.

“Wha—­at?” Harriet straightened up sharply.  “What is it!”

“You will burn your nothe, if you don’t look out.”

“Oh, Tommy!” Harriet laughed merrily.  “Is that all?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” chuckled the guide.  “Wish I could bend over like that.  But don’t bother us, little one.  This is our busy night, and right serious business it is, too.”  The laughter disappeared from his face and Janus bent low to his task.

The others of the party had either seated themselves on the ground or leaned against trees.  They chatted while the guide and Harriet Burrell sought for the true trail, but it was not very encouraging work.

The two torches flickered and smoked weirdly, now and then becoming mere glows like distant lamps in a fog, as the bearer slipped behind a tree or was masked by an intervening growth of bushes whose foliage was very thick and dense.

“Oh, Mr. Grubb, who of our party has brass-headed tacks in his boot heels?” called Harriet.

“I have.  Why?”

“I found a heel mark that gave me that impression,” answered Harriet laughingly.