"Boys," he said, "we've lost the track! Not even a bloodhound could
track 'em in that water."
"Bloodhound?" sniffed Harry Squires. "A hippopotamus, you mean."
They were hungry and cold, and they were ready to turn homeward.
Anderson said he "guessed" he'd turn the job over to the sheriff and his
men. Plainly, he was much too hungry to do any more trailing. Besides,
for more than an hour he had been thinking of the warm wood fire at
home. Bill Rubley was putting the "gad" to the horses when a man on
horseback rode up from the opposite end of the bridge. He had come far
and in a hurry, and he recognised Anderson Crow.
"Say, Anderson!" he called, "somebody broke into Colonel Randall's
summer home last night an' they're there yet. Got fires goin' in all
the stoves, an' havin' a high old time. They ain't got no business
there, becuz the place is closed fer the winter. Aleck Burbank went over
to order 'em out; one of the fellers said he'd bust his head if he
didn't clear out. I think it's a gang!"
A hurried interview brought out the facts. The invaders had come up in a
big sleigh long before dawn, and--but that was sufficient. Anderson and
his men returned to the hunt, eager and sure of their prey. Darkness was
upon them when they came in sight of Colonel Randall's country place in
the hills. There were lights in the windows and people were making merry
indoors; while outside the pursuing Nemesis and his men were wondering
how and where to assault the stronghold.
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