"Let's scurry about a bit.

Surely men can't get away with tents without leaving some trail." Within two minutes they had the trail.

Marks were discovered that plainly had been made by dragging canvas and guy-ropes along over the ground.
"We'll find our stuff soon," predicted Tom, striding along over a rough trail.

"The scoundrels didn't have a team, and they wouldn't take the stuff far without other transportation than their own backs.
Hello! What's in there ?" Tom had detected some motions in a clump of brush.
"Look out!" warned Jim Ferrers, bringing his rifle to "ready." But Tom darted straight into the brush.
"Then this is where you are ?" demanded Tom dryly.

He glanced down at the cowering form of Alf Drew.
"So you've got the 'makings,' have you ?" Reade demanded, seizing Alf by the collar and yanking him up to his feet.
Paper and tobacco fell from young Drew's nerveless grasp to the ground.
"You made me drop the makings of a good one," whined Alf resentfully.
"You didn't have that stuff two hours ago.