With everything in readiness, the group built up their fire and when it was burning briskly, threw on the leaves. A heavy column of smoke arose.
After a moment, Jack and Ken interrupted the smoke by means of the blanket. Over and over they flashed a distress signal.
“We should be getting a reply soon now,” Jack asserted, anxiously scanning the sky in the direction of the mining camp.
For fifteen minutes, the Scouts kept up the signals. Then, as the smoke column faded away, they continued to watch for a response. None came.
“Our signals must have been seen at the camp,” Mr. Livingston declared. “I can’t understand it. What’s happened to War and Willie?”
More disturbed than at any time since they had found themselves stranded, the Scout leader went down to the stream’s edge. He studied the swift current and then directed attention to the spot where the log bridge had washed out. Only a few broken wires remained. These he carefully examined.
“This bridge didn’t wash out,” he told Jack, who had followed him over the slippery rocks.
“It was weakened deliberately?”
“Looks that way, Jack.” Mr. Livingston showed him where the wires had been snipped with a cutter.
“Rhodes?”