The High School Left End Part 7

Something more than half an hour after the start the boys halted beside the tie that Prescott had whittled in the dark a few hours before.

"There are the footprints," quivered Dave, staring hard.

"They're not as distinct as they were a few hours ago," replied d.i.c.k. "Still, I think we can follow them. I'm glad they lead toward the woods."

"Yes," Darrin agreed. "The direction of the footprints shows that Mr. Dodge and his companions didn't have any notion of boarding a train and getting out of this part of the world."

Yet, though both of these young newspaper hounds were keen to follow the trail, they did not find it any easy matter. d.i.c.k and Dave reached the edge of the woods. Then, for a short time, they were obliged to explore carefully ere they came again upon one of the bootmarks of fastidious Banker Dodge. It was a hundred feet further on, in a bit of soft mould, that the next bootprint was found. Had these two High School boys been more expert trackers they would have found a fairly continuous trail, but their untrained eyes lacked the ability to see other signs that would have been evident to a plainsman.

So their progress was slow, indeed. They could judge only by the direction in which each last footprint was pointed, and they had to remember that one wandering through the woods might travel over a course whose direction frequently changed.

"Dave," whispered Prescott, "I think we had better separate a little. We might go along about a hundred feet apart. In that way there is more chance that we'll come sooner upon the next print."

There were perhaps six hundred feet into the woods, by this time, and stood looking down at the fifth footmark they had found.

"All right," nodded Darrin. "We're a pair of rank amateurs at this kind of work, anyway."

"Amateurs or not," murmured d.i.c.k, with a smile? "we seem to be the only folks in Gridley who are on the right track in this mystery at present."

"I'm full of misgivings, anyway," muttered Dave.

"Why?"

"I can't help feeling that we should have turned our news over to Chief Coy or Hemingway.

"Again, why?"

"Well, if we lose our man now, we'll soon feel that we ought to have turned the whole thing over to the police while the trail was fresh."

"Dave, don't you know, well enough, that newspapers do more than the police, nowadays, in clearing up mysteries?"

"This may be more than a mystery," hinted Dave. "Even if we get through to the end of this trail---or mystery we may find a crime at that end."

"All the more need, then, for moving on fast. See here, Dave, I'll follow just the way this footprint points. You get out a hundred feet or so to the right. And we'll move as fast as we can, now."

The wisdom of this plan was soon apparent, for it was Dave Darrin who discovered the next footprint. He summoned d.i.c.k Prescott with a sharp hiss.

"Yes; all right," nodded d.i.c.k, joining his comrade and gazing down at one of the narrow bootmarks. "But don't send a long signal again, Dave. We might be close, and warn some one out of our way."

"What shall we do, then?"

"We'll look frequently at each other, and the fellow who discovers anything will make signs to the other."

Three minutes later d.i.c.k Prescott crouched low behind a line of bushes, his eyes glistening as he peered and listened. Then he began to make wildly energetic signals to Dave Darrin.

The head partner of d.i.c.k & Co. had fallen upon something that interested him---tremendously!

CHAPTER IV

THE "SOREHEADS" IN CONCLAVE

Dave Darrin came stealing over, as soft-footed as any panther.

d.i.c.k did not turn around to look at his chum. He merely held up a cautioning hand, and Darrin moved even more stealthily.

In another moment Dave's head was close to his chum's, and both young men were gazing upon the same scene.

"Davis and Fremont-----" whispered Darrin in his chum's ear.

"Bayliss, Porter and Drayne," d.i.c.k nodded back, softly.

"Trenhold, Grayson, Hudson," continued Darrin.

"All the 'soreheads,'" finished d.i.c.k Prescott for him.

"Or nearly all," supplemented Dave.

Indeed, the scene upon which these two High School boys gazed was one that greatly interested them.

On a little knoll, just beyond the line of bushes, and on lower ground, fully a dozen young men lounged, basking in the morning sun, which poured through upon this small, treeless s.p.a.ce.

Though the young men down in the knoll were not carefully attired, there was a general similarity in their dress. All wore sweaters, and nearly all of them wore cross-country shoes. Evidently the whole party had been out for a cross country run.

Now, the dozen or so were eagerly engaged in conversation.

"It's too bad Purcell won't join us," remarked Davis.

"Yes," nodded another fellow in the group; "he belongs with us."

"Oh, well," spoke up Bayliss, "if Purcell would rather be with the muckers, let him."

"Now, let's not be too rank, fellows," objected Hudson slowly.

"I wouldn't call all the fellows muckers who don't happen to belong in our crowd."

"What would you call 'em then?" growled Bayliss angrily. "Time was when only the fellows of the better families expected to go to High School, on their way to college. Now, every day-laborer's son seems to think he ought to go to High School-----"

"And be received with open arms, on a footing of equality," sneered Porter.

"It's becoming disgusting," muttered Bayliss. "Not only do these cheap fellows expect to go to the High School, but they actually want to run the school affairs."

"I suppose that's natural, to some extent," speculated Porter.

"Why?" demanded Bayliss, turning upon the last speaker in amazement.

"Why, the sons of the poorer families are in a majority, nowadays,"