“Well, I swum!”

“It was a guess about their being brass-headed, though,” she admitted.

“You would have made a prize sheriff, Little Brownie,” declared the guide, gazing at her admiringly.  “If I’d had you to nose the trail when I was after Red Tacy and Charlie Valdes it wouldn’t have taken me a matter of two months to get them.”

“Who are they?”

“A couple of outlaws who turned things upside down in these hills some years ago.  But I got them both.  They are serving terms up at Concord now.  Find anything?”

“No, sir.”

The circles were steadily narrowing, though the man and the girl were working slowly and deliberately, really covering the ground by inches, so thorough was their search for clues of the supposed night visitors.  No spot of the size of a hand escaped the keen scrutiny of one or the other of them.  They could not have answered had they been asked what particular thing they had hoped to find, but in some vague way each felt that a clue to the mystery would be turned up as a result of their search.  If a person had stolen into camp under cover of the night, wounding and stampeding the horses, it was probable that footprints or other evidences of his presence had been left behind, a tell-tale clue to the recent visitor.  As yet, not a single trace had been found by the searchers.  They continued with their work until they finally brought up facing each other in front of the trees to which the broken ends of the halters were still tied.

Harriet glanced up into the perplexed face of the guide and laughed.  Janus gave back a glum look and muttered, “I swum!”

“Have you two sleuths finished your work?” called Crazy Jane.

“It certainly looks as though we had,” replied Harriet.  “What do you think, Mr. Grubb?”

“I reckon we’re beaten.”

“Yes.  We haven’t found a clue of any consequence.  Perhaps we have imagined too much, but I do not think so.”

“Give me a torch; it’s my turn now.  Let’s see what Crazy Jane can find,” said Jane McCarthy.  “My grandfather was the champion shamrock hunter of the Emerald Isle, and my Dad says I’m a pocket edition of my grandfather.  Just watch me while I show you a few things.”

Harriet handed her torch to Jane, and, walking over, sat down by Miss Elting.

“Did you really fail for once, Harriet?” questioned the guardian in a teasing voice.  She understood Harriet’s peculiarities, knowing that the girl was not given to talking when there was real or fancied reason why she should not.

“I should say I did; that is, I did not discover anything that I could feel certain about.  But some one has been here.  There was just one footprint in a bit of soft dirt, but some one had most provokingly stepped on it, nearly obliterating it.  From what I could make out of the original footprint it wasn’t made by any of our party.  That is all I found, but enough to verify our suspicions.  Where is Jane going?”