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 Dick, 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.