He was taking a
risk of finding a trap in the bush, but it was the lesser of the two evils
just then. And luck favored him. He encountered no trap.
Then one of the men with flashlights gave a cry that sounded to Dick just
like the note of a dog that has picked up a lost scent. The lights were
playing on the ground just where they had crossed the wall.
"Footsteps, Hans!" said the man. "Turned from the wall, too! They have gone
in, but have not come out."
"How many?" asked the other man, coming up quickly.
"Two, I think--no more," said the discoverer. "Now we shall follow them."
Dick held his breath. If they could follow the footsteps--and there was no
reason in the world to hope that they could not!--they would be bound to
pass within a foot or two of his hiding-place. And, as he realized, they
would, when they were past him, find the marks of his feet _returning_.
They would know then that he was between them and the wall. He realized
what that would mean. Bravely he nerved himself to take the one desperate
chance that remained to him. They were far too strong for him to have a
chance to meet them on even terms; all he could hope for was an opportunity
to make use of his light weight and his superior speed. He knew that he
could move two feet, at least, to their one. And so he waited, crouching,
until they went by.
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