Tom Slade on Mystery Trail Part 17

And he thought of that other scout coming down through those woods, tracking that mysterious animal indeed, and stopping short, and sitting down on a log and throwing away his triumph like chaff before the wind.

Then there arose in his mind the picture of that bright-eyed, irresponsible youngster with his hat c.o.c.ked sideways on his head, off upon some new adventure or bent on some new stunt. Not a very good scout delegate perhaps, but the bulliest scout that ever tore a gaping hole in his stocking....

Tom was aroused from his meditation by Skinny's eager voice. "Here's the log where he talked to me," he said; "here's just the very same place we sat down and he said he'd be my witness. He said I was old top, that's what he called me."

"Old top, hey?" said Tom, smiling.

CHAPTER XXVI

MYSTERIOUS MARKS

Before reaching the log, Tom's interest had been chiefly in his queer little companion. The tracks puzzled him somewhat, but since they had already served their purpose and were in process of obliteration he paid little attention to them. In his more ambitious rambles during late fall and winter, he had run across too many tracks of deer and bear and wildcat to become excited by these signs of some humbler creature of the woods.

But on reaching that scene of Skinny's memorable meeting with Hervey Willetts, Tom's keenest interest was aroused by something which he saw there, and which both of the others characteristically had failed to notice. Skinny, enthralled by his vision of the coveted badge, had been in no state for minute exploration, and as for Hervey, these things were quite out of his line. Besides, his sudden impulse of generosity toward Skinny would have been quite sufficient (as we know it was) to cause him to forget all else.

But Tom was as observant and methodical, as Hervey was erratic, and as he paused to rest upon the log, he noticed how it lay directly across the path of the tracks. Thus the track line was broken for a couple of feet or so by this obstacle.

Supposing that the creature which had pa.s.sed here had clambered over the log, Tom's scouting instinct was aroused to examine the rough bark carefully for any little tuft of hair which the animal might have left.

And not finding any, he was puzzled. For by its tracks the creature must have been very small, certainly too small to have stepped, and not at all likely to have jumped over the log. If then it had clambered over the log it seemed remarkable that it had left no trace, not even a single hair, upon that rough surface.

Tom knew that this was unusual. He knew that old Uncle Jeb would laugh at him if he went back and said that some small creature had crawled over that nutmeg grater and left no sign of its crossing. He knew that no animal could graze a tree in its flight but old Uncle Jeb would find there some tell-tale souvenir of its pa.s.sing.

Tom's interest was keenly aroused now. He was baffled and a little chagrined. But no supplementary inspection revealed so much as a single hair.

Thus confounded, he examined the tracks more carefully. He followed them up to where they emerged from the lower reaches of the mountain. Then he followed them back, aided where they were dim by the deeper prints of Hervey's shoes. Skinny sat upon the log waiting for him.

On the side of the log nearest the mountain the tracks turned and went sideways along the log for perhaps a yard to a point where the log was low and somewhat broken. Here, evidently, was where the animal had crossed. It must have been a very small animal, Tom thought, to have sought an easy place for crossing.

Having thus determined the exact place of crossing, Tom concentrated his attention on this spot, examining the bark systematically, inch by inch.

But no vestige of a clew rewarded his microscopic scrutiny. He was baffled and his curiosity and determination rose in proportion to the difficulties. His big mouth was set tight, a menacing frown clouded his countenance, so that instinctively little Skinny refrained from speaking to him.

Tracing the apparent line of the animal's crossing over the log, Tom scrutinized the prints on the other side, that is, the side nearest camp. Here the prints were very clear by reason of the crust of mud caused by the dampness usually found near logs and fallen trees. Marks on this showed like marks on hard b.u.t.ter.

Suddenly Tom's attention was riveted by something directly under the apparent line of crossing, something which he had never seen the like of in all his woodland adventures since he had become a scout. What he saw looked singularly out of place there. Yet there it was printed in the hard crust of mud, and as clear as writing on a slate. No human footprint was near it. If a human being had made those marks that human being must have reached from the log to do it. And the printing was almost too nice for that.

Utterly dismayed, Tom looked again for human footprints but the nearest were those of Hervey on the other side of the log, some ten or a dozen feet beyond.

"Did either of you fellows do that?" Tom asked, pointing.

"Does--does it mean I can't have the badge?" Skinny asked, apprehensive of Tom's mood.

"Did either of you fellows do that?"

"N-no," Skinny answered timidly.

"Have you brought any one else up here?"

"Honest--I ain't."

"Well then," said Tom, with a kind of grim finality, "either some one else who didn't have any feet has been here or else that animal knows how to write. Look there."

Skinny obediently looked again. There below the log and close to the tracks were printed as clear as day the letters H. T. They were about two inches in size.

"Take your choice," said Tom with a kind of baffled conclusiveness which greatly impressed his little companion. _"Either those letters were printed there by some one who didn't have any feet, or else the animal knew how to write. Either one or the other. It's got me guessing."_

CHAPTER XXVII

THE GREATER MYSTERY

Since there was no solution of this singular puzzle, Tom did not let it continue to trouble him. He was too busy with his duties incidental to the closing season to concern himself with mysteries which were not likely to reveal anything of value. The kidnapping was a serious affair, and the curious discovery which he had made in the woods was soon relegated to the back of his mind by this, which was now the talk of the camp, and by his increasingly pressing labors.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DID EITHER OF YOU FELLOWS DO THAT?" TOM ASKED.

_Tom Slade on Mystery Trail. Page_ 151]

Moreover he believed that some scout or other had visited this now memorable spot and marked his initials on the mud, squatting on the log the while. To be sure, the absence of footprints close by, save those easily recognizable as Skinny's, was perplexing, but since there was no other explanation, Tom accepted the one which seemed not wholly unlikely. At all events, what other explanation was there?

For an hour or more that same night Tom lay under Asbestos' elm pondering on his singular discovery. Then realizing that his duties were many and various, he put this matter out of his head altogether and went to work in the morning at the strenuous work of lowering and rolling up tents.

The papers which the boys brought up from Catskill that afternoon were full of the kidnapping. Master Harrington's distracted mother was under the care of a dozen or so specialists, six or eight servants had been discharged for neglect, Mr. Harrington offered a reward of five thousand dollars, somebody had seen the child in Detroit, another had seen him in Canada, another had seen him at a movie show, another had heard heart-rending cries in some marsh or other, and so on and so on.

In New York "an arrest was shortly expected," but it didn't arrive. The detectives were "saying nothing" and apparently doing nothing. Master Anthony Harrington's picture was displayed on movie screens the country over.

But out of all this hodge-podge of cooked up news and irresponsible hints there remained just the one plausible clew to hang any hopes on and that was trainman Hanlon's recollection of seeing a child in a mackinaw jacket and carrying a jack-knife in the company of two men who alighted from a northbound train at Catskill, within ten miles of Temple Camp.

One other item of news interested the camp community, and that was that boy scouts throughout the country had been asked to search for the missing child.

Meanwhile, the kidnappers sat tight, expecting no doubt that their demands for a large ransom would be more fruitful after the chances of legitimate rescue had been exhausted. The great fortune of Anthony Harrington of Wall Street was quite useless until a couple of ruffians chose to say the word. And meanwhile, Master Anthony, Jr., might be hacking himself all to pieces with a horrible jack-knife.

It was just when matters were at that stage that Pee-wee Harris, Elk Patrol, First Bridgeboro Troop, went in swimming for the last time that summer in the cooling water of Black Lake. He gave a terrific cry, jumped on the springboard, howled for everybody to look, turned two complete somersaults and went kerplunk into the water with a mighty splash.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WATCHFUL WAITING

In a minute he came up sputtering and shouting.