Of the five, all coming from the south, four
had turned south again, but the fifth man--Ware, in other words
--had gone north. He weighed the possible significance of these
facts.
"I am only wasting time!" he confessed reluctantly, and was on
the point of turning away, when, on the very edge of the road and
just where the dust yielded to the hard clay of the path, his
glance lighted on the print of a small and daintily shod foot.
The throbbing of his heart quickened curiously.
"Betty!" The word leaped from his lips.
That small foot had left but the one impress. There were other
signs, however, that claimed his attention; namely, the
bootprints of Slosson and his men; and he made the inevitable
discovery that these tracks were all confined to the one spot.
They began suddenly and as suddenly ceased, yet there was no
mystery about these; he had the marks of the wheels to help him
to a sure conclusion. A carriage had turned just here, several
men had alighted, they had with them a child or a woman. Either
they had reentered the carriage and driven back as they had come,
or they had gone toward the :fiver. He felt the soul within him
turn sick.
He stole along the path; the terror of the river was ever in his
thoughts, and the specter of his fear seemed to flit before him
and lure him on. Presently he caught his first glimpse of the
bayou and his legs shook under him; but the path wound deeper
still into what appeared to be an untouched solitude, wound on
between the crowding tree forms, a little back from the shore,
with an intervening tangle of vines and bushes.
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