The three officers were now walking swiftly about the camp in opposite directions, evidently searching for some one not in view. A hunter standing by the boy’s side glanced his eye over the group.
“It must be Frank Harris they want,” he said. “He’s the only one that isn’t here.”
“Frank Harris went down the slope to the west not long ago!” another said. “I guess he’s looking for another bear cub.”
But if Frank Harris was indeed looking for the third bear cub his search must have been a long one, for neither then nor at any other time did any member of the hunting party set eyes upon him again. Secret service men are looking for him to this day. How he got out of the wilderness no one knows, but get out he did, and out of the country, too, for that matter.
After concluding the search, Dick Sherman came to where Carl was standing by the machine.
“Where’s that Englishman of yours?” he asked.
“Do you want the Englishman, too?” demanded the boy.
“Of course I want the Englishman!” replied the officer. “Do you think I’d be apt to find him over at your camp?”
“I haven’t a doubt of it!” answered Carl. “Although I haven’t been to the camp since yesterday. This man Howell and his chums were so stuck on my sweet society that they kept me here all night!”
“I’d keep you here about fifteen minutes if I had my way now!” Howell muttered.