they could see the footprints of shoes much larger than those they themselves wore.
"Here is his trail, going away," said Dick, after a close examination.
"There is your tin box!" cried Sam, pointing to the object, still dangling from a distant tree.
"Wait till I see what is in it," answered his big brother. "It won't take but a minute or two."
"Beware of holes!" cautioned Tom.
Feeling his way through the brushwood, Dick approached the dangling tin box. It was a small affair and now hung open. He felt certain in his mind that when he had seen it before it had been closed.
The box proved to be empty and Dick was, somehow, disappointed. He glanced on the ground and saw a number of bits of paper, some old looking and some new. He picked up some of the bits and saw they had been written on in pencil, but the words or parts of words were undecipherable.
"Well, what do you make of it?" questioned Sam, as he and Tom came up.
"I think I know what this is," answered Dick.
"What?"
"A sort of a private post-office. Somebody was in the habit of leaving messages here, and Dangler or somebody else got the messages from time to time."
