“Where’s Walz?” Ken suddenly asked.
The motel owner was not to be found near the cabin nor in it. Very shortly the Scouts learned the reason: during their absence, he had disappeared. With him had gone their few remaining supplies.
“Why, that thieving rascal!” Warner exclaimed. “We took pity on him and shared what little we had. This is our pay.”
Only a perfunctory search was made for Walz. It was certain he had taken refuge in the bush not far from the cabin, but to track him down would have been a difficult and useless task.
“By this time, he’ll have hidden what he can’t consume,” Warner said in disgust. “He probably figures on finding those caches and getting out of here fast.”
Breakfast was a disheartening meal. The fish, baked in leaves, was tasteless without salt.
“We’ll not starve,” Warner said. “But it’s sure we have to replenish our supply of staples or hit the trail for Elks Creek. The question is, can we be sure that Willie and War have gotten help for us?”
Mr. Livingston spoke with quiet confidence: “Unless they had some bad luck the plane will get here.”
“Good flying weather today,” Ken added cheerfully.
“It’s settled then that we stick it out,” Warner said.