What he saw
looked singularly out of place there. Yet there it was printed in the
hard crust of mud, and as clear as writing on a slate. No human
footprint was near it. If a human being had made those marks that human
being must have reached from the log to do it. And the printing was
almost too nice for that.
Utterly dismayed, Tom looked again for human footprints but the nearest
were those of Hervey on the other side of the log, some ten or a dozen
feet beyond.
"Did either of you fellows do that?" Tom asked, pointing.
"Does--does it mean I can't have the badge?" Skinny asked, apprehensive
of Tom's mood.
"Did either of you fellows do that?"
"N-no," Skinny answered timidly.
"Have you brought any one else up here?"
"Honest--I ain't."
"Well then," said Tom, with a kind of grim finality, "either some one
else who didn't have any feet has been here or else that animal knows
how to write. Look there."
Skinny obediently looked again. There below the log and close to the
tracks were printed as clear as day the letters H. T. They were about
two inches in size.
"Take your choice," said Tom with a kind of baffled conclusiveness which
greatly impressed his little companion. _"Either those letters were
printed there by some one who didn't have any feet, or else the animal
knew how to write. Either one or the other. It's got me guessing."_
CHAPTER XXVII
THE GREATER MYSTERY
Since there was no solution of this singular puzzle, Tom did not let it
continue to trouble him.
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