the branches through the
bush track.

He ran forwards at top speed, but he knew well that unless some accident
befell the horse he stood a poor chance of being able to aid his chum.
The Indian would know the bush as well as his namesake fox. He would not
be likely to take any risk that would imperil his safety or blight any
evil purpose that he might harbour.

The boy followed the track, which was well marked. It was the same
course that had been taken by Mackintosh and Haggis earlier in the day.
For a time it led through an avenue of trees. Then it branched off to
the left, where the ground was hard-packed and dry, having been
stripped of vegetation by a bush fire earlier in the year. Here the
tracks were less easy to follow, for a steady breeze was blowing, and
the imprints of the hoofs were covered almost as quickly as they were
made.

It was heart-breaking to have to slacken speed at such a time, when
every second might mean disaster to his chum. But what else could he do?
And when ultimately the tracks led him to the border of a vast
marshland, the lad was obliged to halt in what was almost despair.

"What is to be done now?" he exclaimed to himself. "Poor old Alf! What a
fool I was not to be prepared for such a rascal, when once my suspicions
were so roused!"

But it was no use sitting down in hopelessness. Such weakness would have
nothing to gain and everything to lose. So Bob pulled himself together,
as the apt saying has it, and racked his brains to meet the occasion.

Not a sound could he now hear to indicate which way the fugitive had
taken. Moreover, the tracks completely disappeared from sight when the
boy had taken a few paces into the shallow water and spongy moss.

Plainly the only course was to mark a starting-point with a stake, and
then follow round the margin of the swamp until he discovered the spot
where the rider had crossed.

It was a tedious process, but apparently there was no option. So he
resumed the weary tour with such hope as he could summon.

Arnold found the tracks after more than two hours' patient searching, as
the dusk was beginning to creep over the forest. The footprints were
more distinct now than they had been at the other side of the marsh, so
the boy was able to make some rapid progress. But, as the darkness fell
the work became more difficult. He had to stoop low in order to see the
tracks at all, and ultimately he could only follow them on hands and
knees--feeling