So the three high school boys started off down the road together,
old Reuben Hinman trudging tirelessly along with them, acting
like a man in a trance.

At last they came to the old, red wagon. The tethered horse,
disturbed, rose to its feet.

"Now, the rest of you keep away," requested young Prescott, "until
I've had time to look all around the wagon with the lantern.
I want to see if I can discover any footprints that will help."

For a considerable radius around the wagon the high school athlete
scanned the ground. He could find no footprints, other than those
of Reuben Hinman, and the fresher ones made by himself.

"Nothing doing in the footprint line, boys," Dick called at last.
"Now, come along and we'll search the wagon."

"Let me have the first chance," begged Dave, taking the lantern.

Reuben Hinman showed where he had slept on the pile of rags, but
this was hardly necessary, the impression made by his slight body
being still visible.

Dave began to rummage. At last he got down into the body of the
wagon. With the rays of the lantern thus concealed, the other
three stood in darkness.

"Hooray!" gasped Dave at last. Then rising, leaning over the
side of the wagon, he called: