With added caution Dave crept forward another couple of hundred feet. Then he stopped and peered around him in perplexity.
"What is it, lad?"
"They are gone!"
"Gone?"
"Yes, gone."
"You are certain this is the spot?"
"I am. I know it well, by this fallen tree and that rock. They have moved to another quarter—or else——"
"Or else the redskins have attacked them and carried them off," finished Uriah Risley. He gave a groan. "Oh, lad, what is best to do now? Tell me, for you are better versed to this sort of thing than I."
"I—I don't know what to do," faltered the young hunter, staring first at the helpless man before him and then at the gloomy surroundings. "Wait a minute, and keep your hands on your gun. But don't shoot me or Henry or your wife by mistake."
Leaving Risley in the center of the little opening Dave started to walk around in a wide circle. He did this with extreme caution, his head bent close to the ground and his eyes noting every root and rock that covered his path. Then he took another circle, still wider, and at last came back to where his companion stood, the picture of misery and despair.