“Poor, poor Harry!” he murmured, and the tears of sorrow stood in his eyes. He loved his chum as though the two were brothers.
Joe knew not how to proceed. He wanted to find Harry, and he also wanted to learn how his folks and the others were faring at the camp.
While he was meditating he saw the flare of a torch on the opposite side of the stream. He had just time enough to drop behind an outstanding rock when three Indians came into view. Each carried a bundle, but what the loads contained Joe could not tell.
From a hiding place beneath the trees the Indians brought forth a large canoe and two paddles. They placed their loads into the craft, and then entered themselves.
“Can they be coming over here?” Joe asked himself.
The question was soon answered in the negative, for the Indians turned up the stream. It was a difficult matter to paddle against the strong current, but the red men were equal to the task, and soon the canoe disappeared in the darkness.
“I’ll wager all I am worth those were things stolen from our camp,” reasoned Joe.
He sat down at the water’s edge to listen and to think. All had become quiet in the distance, and the red glow in the sky was dying away.
“I must do something,” he cried, leaping up. “If I stay here I’ll go crazy. Perhaps mother and father and the others need me this very minute.”
As quickly as he could he made his way along the rocks to the point where the stream disappeared under the cliff. Then he worked his way around to where the Indians had launched their canoe.