“Give a yell,” suggested Ned. “Fenn will hear it and know we are coming.”
The three chums united their voices in a loud hallo; and, when the echoes had died away, they listened for an answering cry. None came, and the woods were silent, save for the noises made by birds flitting here and there in the branches of the trees.
“He didn’t hear us,” said Ned. “Try again.”
“Maybe—maybe he isn’t there,” suggested Frank, in a low voice.
“Of course he is!” declared Ned. “Maybe he’s asleep.”
“I guess he didn’t hear us,” suggested Bart. “The wind is blowing the wrong way. Let’s yell again.”
Once more they shouted, but with no effect. There came no answering hail.
“Come on!” called Frank, increasing his speed. The boys spoke but seldom during the remainder of the tramp to camp. When they came in sight of the tent they strained their eyes for a sight of their chum. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Probably he’s inside, lying down,” spoke Ned.
It needed but a glance within the canvas shelter, to show that Fenn was not there. In the gathering dusk Frank gave a hasty glance about the locality. The embers of what had been the campfire, were cold. There was no sign that Fenn had been there recently, or that he had made any preparations to receive his chums.