"
"That's my idea. We'll be as cautious as mousing cats."
"Better stop talking, then. I never heard a mousing cat mi-ouw."
Cautiously they crept on. The trail still held good. At last they
reached the head of the glen where a spring showed the source of the
brook.
"What next?" whispered Jimsy.
"Let's see if we can find which way that fellow went. The ground is
spongy all around here and--ah! this way! See it?"
Jimsy nodded. They struck off to the right, clambering over rocks till
they reached the summit of a small hill. A tall dead tree stood there
and Jimsy volunteered to climb it in order to spy out the surrounding
country for traces of the gipsys. But on his return to the ground he was
compelled to admit that they had gained nothing.
"I thought I might see some smoke that would give me a clew to their
whereabouts," he explained.
"Not much chance of their being as foolish as that. I guess they know
searching parties are out all over by this time, and they are too foxy
to light fires."
"I might have thought of that," admitted Jimsy; "it would be about the
last thing they would do.
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