Harry struck out up the lake shore a bit, and presently came to a spot where two immense rocks leaned against each other over a little gully, scarcely a yard deep and two yards wide. The gully was dry, and filled with leaves, and he thought that if the snow was cleared out and banked up in front, it would be just the place they desired. The opening under the rocks was about ten feet deep, and the rear was choked up with fallen branches, brush, and dirt.
He called to the others, and soon all but Jack were by his side.
“That’s the ticket!” cried Boxy. “We couldn’t find a better place made to order.”
“We can spread the rubber blankets over the leaves, and it will make good bedding,” said Andy.
“An’ dat dar snow will keep out all de cold,” put in Pickles. “Yes, de prize goes to Harry fo’ findin’ de right spot.”
“Where is Jack?” asked Harry, anxious to have all of the members of the club satisfied before it was settled to stay. “Maybe he has discovered a better spot.”
They all set up a shout, and waited for an answer. But none came. Then they shouted again, with the same result.
“That’s queer!” murmured Andy, somewhat disturbed. “Give him another call, boys, as loud as you can.”
They did so willingly, and Boxy added his imitation locomotive whistle as well.
It brought forth no reply. Jack was lost to them. What could have become of him?