"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!"
