“More likely they’re in trouble,” spoke Jerry, an anxious look on his face. “I think we had better hunt them up.”
This the boys decided to do, after getting themselves a light lunch. They ran the auto along the track the three men had taken, but after riding half an hour found no sign of their friends.
“Maybe we’re on the wrong track,” said Bob.
“Or else they didn’t come this way,” put in Ned.
They turned the machine around and rode back slowly, looking for marks along the road.
“There’s something!” exclaimed Jerry. He pointed to a small match-box lying on the ground. “Nestor always carried that,” he said. “It must have dropped from his pocket. The men have been here.”
“Hark! What’s that?” cried Bob.
All listened. To their ears came a faint but unmistakable cry.
“Help!”
“There they are!” called Jerry. “Over to the left! We must hurry to them!”