Still there was no answer.

Possibly the girl had not gone so far, or she might have left the path for the thick woods.

A little farther on there was a soft spot in the path where a great tree-trunk had rotted half a century before, leaving a rich black soil.

Clearly traced in this were the imprints of Minnetaki's moccasins.

For a full minute Rod stopped and listened, making not a sound.