"If we had a hound we wouldn't have all this trouble," he said.

"But, seeing as we haven't, we'll have to be our own dogs," retorted Ned. "I guess we can manage it."

They followed the footprints of the one Chinaman for a mile or more, and then they came to an end with an abruptness that was surprising, particularly as the last one was plainly to be seen in a patch of soft mud.

"Well, he evidently went up in a balloon," announced Bart.

"It does look so, unless he had a pair of wings in his pocket,"

supplemented Ned.

Frank went on ahead, looking with sharp eyes, for a recurrence of the prints. He went so far into the woods that Bart called to him.

"Do you think he jumped that distance?"

"I don't know," replied Frank. "I'm going to look--"

He stopped so suddenly that his chums were alarmed and ran forward to where he was. They found him staring at some marks in the earth, and the marks were those they sought--the footprints of the Chinese.

"How in the world did he ever get over that s.p.a.ce without touching the ground?" inquired Ned. "He must be a wonder, or else have a pair of those seven-league-boots I used to read about in a fairy book, when I was a kid."

"Look there!" exclaimed Bart, pointing up to a tree branch overhead.

"Horse hair!" exclaimed Ned. "I didn't know a horse could switch his tail so high."

"Horses nothing!" retorted Bart. "That's hair from the queue of a Chinaman, or I'll eat my hat!"

"But what's it doing up in the tree?" demanded Frank.

"That's how he fooled us," replied Bart. "He thought some one might trail him, and when he got to a good place, he took to the trees. They are thick enough here so he could swing himself along from limb to limb, and, after he covered twenty-five feet or more, he let himself down. It was a good Chinese trick, but we got on to it. His pigtail caught in a branch. I guess it hurt him some."

"Yes, here are his footsteps again, as plain as ever," said Frank, pointing to where the queer marks were to be seen.

"But, say, we've forgotten one thing," said Ned suddenly.

"What?" asked Bart.

"We haven't looked for Fenn's footprints. All along we've been paying attention to only the marks made by the c.h.i.n.k. Now where does Fenn come in? This Chinese fellow couldn't carry him; could he?"

"Not unless the c.h.i.n.k was one of the gigantic Chinese wrestlers I've read about," admitted Bart. "That's so, Ned. We have forgotten all about Fenn's footprints."

The three boys looked at each other. In their anxiety at following the trail of the queer marks they had lost sight of the fact that they wanted a clue to Fenn, as well as to the smugglers.

"I suppose we'd better go back to camp and begin all over," suggested Ned.

"No," decided Frank, after a moment's thought. "Let's try these prints a little longer. Maybe they'll lead us to some place where we can get on Fenn's trail."

The others agreed to this plan, and, once more, they took up the search.

They had not gone far before Frank, who was again in the lead, called out:

"Here we are, fellows! This explains it!"

Ned and Bart hurried forward. They found that Frank had emerged upon a well-defined trail, that led at right angles to the one they had been following. But, stranger than that was what the trail showed.

There, in plain view, were the footprints of two Chinese and the unmistakable mark of a white man's foot.

"There were two parties of smugglers!" exclaimed Ned.

"Either that, or one member of the single party made a cut through the woods, came to our camp, and then joined the others right here," said Frank.

"Still, I don't see anything of Fenn," remarked Bart.

"No? What's that?" demanded Frank quickly, pointing to footprints, quite some distance back of the others.

"Fenn's! I'll be jiggered!" cried Bart. "I can tell them by the triangle mark, made with hobnails that he hammered into the heels of his shoes, after we decided to come on this trip. He said that would prevent him slipping around on deck."

"Those are Fenn's footsteps all right--unless some one else has his shoes," declared Ned. "Come on! We're on the right trail at last." And the boys hurried forward, hope once more strong in their hearts.

CHAPTER XXIV

FENN IS CAPTURED

For several seconds after he had observed the man's head disappear down the hole in the ledge, Fenn waited. He wanted to see if the fellow had gone for reinforcements, or had retreated. After a minute or two Fenn decided that the man was as much frightened as he himself was.

"I'll take a look down that hole," he decided. "I'm not in very good shape for visiting company," he went on, with a look at his clay-covered clothes, "but I don't believe those chaps are very particular. I wonder what I'm up against? This is a queer country, with holes in the ground almost at every turn, leading to no one knows where."

He advanced toward the shaft, down which the man had vanished, and, as he reached the edge, he saw that it contained a ladder.

The ladder was made of tree trunks, with the branches cut off about a foot from where they joined on, leaving projections sticking up at a slight angle, and making a good hold for the hands and feet.

"Well, I s'pose I'm foolish to do this all alone, and that I had better go back to camp and get the boys," murmured Fenn, as he prepared to descend. "But, if I do, the smugglers may escape, and I'll lose the reward. There must be an opening at the bottom of this shaft that leads right out on the lake sh.o.r.e. When the boats land the smuggled-in Chinamen, they are probably taken up this shaft, then through the one I slid down, and so into the woods, and from there they are spirited wherever they want to go."

He looked into the shaft, and listened intently, but could hear no sound. He was surprised to see that the opening, leading down to he could only guess where, was dimly lighted, seemingly in a natural manner. But his wonder at this ceased when, having gone down a little way, he noticed that the walls of the shaft were pierced, in the direction of the lake, with small openings, through which light came.

The shaft, he then saw, was either a natural one, or had been bored, straight down the cliff, and at no great distance from the perpendicular face of it. The sides seemed to be of soft rock, or hard clay, and the tree-trunk ladders were fastened up against the walls by long wooden stakes, driven in deeply. There were several tree trunks, one after another, and from the smoothness of the jutting p.r.o.ngs it was evident that they were often used.

Down Fenn climbed, stopping every now and then to peer through the ventilating and light holes. He caught glimpses of the great lake, that lay at the foot of the cliff, toward the bottom of which he was descending in this strange manner.

"Queer I don't hear or see anything more of those men I was chasing,"

mused the boy as he paused a moment opposite one of the air holes to get his breath. "I wonder what became of the two Chinese and the white chap?

Then there's that man who stuck his head up out of this hole. He looked like a miner, for his hat was all covered with dirt. That reminds me, where's my hat?"

Instinctively he looked about him, as though he would find it hanging on one of the p.r.o.ngs of the tree-trunk ladder, which might answer as a hat rack. Then he laughed at himself.

"I remember now," he said. "It flew off when I fell through that clump of fern into the hole I thought led to China. Guess I'll have to make my bow without my hat."