m Hooker. For days he had followed
panther and bear, eventually to track them to their lairs. No big
animal hunt ever had been considered complete without Hiram Hooker to
go along.

He remembered the incident of the man in the pines by the lake shore
and groaned: "Fools!" he muttered. "They thought the rain would help
cover their trail, where it only makes it plainer. Men can't travel
through wet bushes without leaving a trail that looks like it had been
made with whitewash and a broom. What has happened? Oh, Jo! Jo!"

He was off at a lope, his eyes darting glances hither and thither,
following the trail as accurately as a hound follows a scent. Here
leaves glistened with raindrops--there they looked dull. The trail was
plain.

What has happened? The footprint of a man, and no sight of tracks made
by the girl! Hiram was unarmed. He had left his wagon too surprised
to think of grabbing up the Colt that he carried. Should he go back
now and get Jo's six-shooter? No, the rain was falling too fast. Soon
the bushes that the kidnapers had brushed in their escape would be
covered with drops of water again, and the tail would vanish, since the
land was rocky and showed no footprints. He must keep as close to the
fleeing men as possible. He knew there must be more than one to
manhandle Jerkline Jo!

Thus raced his thoughts as he sped on, never for an instant faltering
on the trail.

"If it only doesn't rain harder!" came his groan. He prayed with
childlike simplicity against this calamity, for more rain would wipe
out the trail altogether.

He saw a large pine knot as he ran along, and paused to grasp it up.
It was heavy with pitch and shaped like the warclub of an Indian. It
was, in fact, too heavy, and few men would have considered it in the
light of a weapon. Fifty yards farther Hiram found a mate to it, and
picked it up too. Then he sped on and on into the forest of pines and
firs, praying that the brush would not give out and make his trailing
slower.

If these men ahead of him were trusting to their own legs to get away
with Jerkline Jo, their legs would have to be better than any Hiram
Hooker ever before had matched his own against. Why, he could keep up
this pace for hours and hours! He knew more about surmounting the
difficulties of a forest wilderness than any man in the south, he
proudly told himself. These woods were as nothing compared with the
majestic, seemingly endless sweep of t