Freckles stood fascinated, gazing at it.

He measured it lovingly with his eye.

He would not have ventured a caress on her hat any more than on her person, but this was different.
Surely a footprint on a trail might belong to anyone who found and wanted it.

He stooped under the wires and entered the swamp.

With a little searching, he found a big piece of thick bark loose on a log and carefully peeling it, carried it out and covered the print so that the first rain would not obliterate it.
When he reached his room, he tenderly laid the hat upon his bookshelf, and to wear off his awkwardness, mounted his wheel and went spinning on trail again.