After all the activities of the forenoon both by the older boys and girls of the vacation party at Red Deer Lodge, and by the children as well, the soft snow was considerably marked up by footprints around the premises.

Ike M’Graw and Neale O’Neil, searching for prints of the feet of those who they thought had left the vicinity of the house early that morning, struck directly off for the edge of the clearing.

“The best we can do,” M’Graw declared, “is to follow the line of the woods clean around the clearing. Somewhere, whoever ’tis got that fox and lifted the canned goods, must have struck into the woods. They ain’t hidin’ in the barns or anywhere here. I’ve been searchin’ them. That’s certain.”

Neale had very bright eyes, and not much could escape them; but the snow was coming down fast now and even he could not distinguish marks many yards ahead.

Here and there they beheld footprints; but always examination proved them to be of somebody who belonged at the Lodge. The prints in the snow Luke and his sister and Ruth had made soon after breakfast fooled Neale for a moment, but not for long.

They saw the woodsman’s big prints, too, where he had been looking for the marks of the fox hunter. There were the marks Neale himself and Agnes had made when they had followed the “deer.”

All these various marks bothered the searchers; and all the time, too, the snow was falling and making the identification of the various prints of feet the more difficult.

“This here’s worse than nailing the animals that they say went into the ark that time Noah set sail for Ararat,” declared Ike, chuckling. “Whoever followed them critters up to the gangplank must have been some mixed up—

“Hello! What’s this?”

They had come around behind the sheds. Here was the entrance to the road on which Neale and Luke with the three older girls had coasted that forenoon. The woodsman was pointing to marks in the snow, now being rapidly filled in. Neale said:

“Oh, we were sliding on this hill, you know.”

“Uh-huh? Who was?”

“Five of us. With a big bobsled.”

“Now, you don’t tell me that bobsled made them marks,” interposed the old man. “I know that bobsled.”

“Why—I—”

“Them runner marks was made by little Ralph Birdsall’s scootin’ sled. I know that, too. Who’s gone up to slide this afternoon?”

“That must be the kids!” exclaimed Neale. “I wonder if Ruth knows they are out here playing! I remember now I didn’t see them at the front of the house.”

“You don’t suppose they’ve gone far?”

“Oh, I guess they will come to no harm around here. Ruth would not let them go away from the Lodge to play.”

“Humph!” muttered the old man.

But he went on. There was really no reason for Neale to be worried about the children. They were almost always well behaved. At least, they seldom disobeyed.

Besides, it was only a few minutes later when Mr. Howbridge, well muffled against the storm, appeared with Tom Jonah on a leash. The old woodsman had just got down on his knees in the snow to examine two lines of faint impressions that left the path John’s footprints had made to the farther shed.

“Now, what’s this? A deer jumped out here—or what?”

Neale waited and Mr. Howbridge held the dog back. Ike got up and followed the half-filled impressions a little farther. They headed directly for the thicker woods to the north of the Lodge premises.

“Might have been feet—small feet. And two sets of ’em,” said Ike. “Hi, Mister! did you find anything up in that closet belongin’ to the twins?”

“Here is a pair of bed slippers. Knitted ones. They are much too small for a grown person,” the lawyer declared.

M’Graw took the articles thoughtfully into his big hands. “Humph! Look like little Missie’s slippers. Certainly do. Roweny, you know. Wonder if this old dog knows anything.”

He offered the slippers to Tom Jonah to sniff. The dog had been used to following a scent in times past; often they would send him after Dot or Tess or Sammy. He snuffed eagerly at the knitted shoes.

“Don’t know how strong the scent is on ’em. It’s been some time, p’r’aps, since little Roweny wore ’em. But—”

Tom Jonah whined, sniffed again, and then lifted up his muzzle and barked, straining at the leash.

“Looks like he understands,” said the old man, reaching for the leash and taking the bight of it from Mr. Howbridge’s hand. “Good dog! Now, go to it. These here footprints—if that’s what they are—are fillin’ in fast.”

Tom Jonah put his nose to the marks in the snow. He sniffed, threw some of the light snow about with his nose, and started off. He followed the faint trail into the woods. But Neale doubted if the dog followed by scent.

Once in the thicket the marks were only visible here and there. The fresh snow was sifting down faster and faster. The dog leaped from one spot to another, whining, and eagerly seeking to pick up the scent.

“It’s awful unlucky this here snow commenced as it has. Hi! I don’t see what we can do,” sighed Ike.

“Do you really believe those marks were the twins’ footsteps?”

“I do. I believe they was in the house when your folks came, Mr. Howbridge,” M’Graw said. “But now—”

Tom Jonah halted, threw up his shaggy head, and howled mournfully.

“Oh, don’t, Tom Jonah!” cried Neale O’Neil. “It sounds like—like somebody was dead!”

“Or lost, eh?” suggested Ike. “Ain’t no use. He—nor a better dog—couldn’t follow a scent through such snow. We’re too late. But I’d like to know where them children went, if these is them!”

They turned back toward the Lodge, rather disheartened. If the two Birdsall children, who had been left to the care of Mr. Howbridge, were really up here alone in the wilderness—and perhaps shelterless at this time—what might not happen to them? What would be the end of this strange and menacing situation?

Nobody spoke after M’Graw expressed himself until they came to the path on which they had previously seen the marks of the small sled and the footprints of Sammy and the two youngest Corner House girls. These traces were now entirely obliterated. It was snowing heavily and the wind was rising.

“Hi gorry!” ejaculated the old woodsman, “how about those other children? Are they at home where they ought to be?”

“Whom do you mean?” asked the lawyer, rather startled.

But Neale understood. He looked sharply about. Not an impression in the snow but that of their own feet was visible.

“I’ll go and see if the sled is returned to the place they got it from,” he said, and dashed away to the shed.

Before Mr. Howbridge and M’Graw had reached the Lodge Neale O’Neil came tearing after them.

“Oh, wait! Wait!” he shouted. “They haven’t come back with the sled. What do you suppose can have happened to Sammy and Tess and Dot?”