“Now there’s some one sleuthing in that direction,” the boy mused. “Of course, he was at the camp-fire when he heard the motors and ducked. Now he’s up there watching me, I presume.”
The lad turned toward the snow-capped summit once more, resolved to get away to his own camp as soon as possible. When he reached the top the clatter of motors came to his ears. He looked down in dismay to see the Louise lifting into the air.
“Now, what’s that fool Carl doing?” he muttered.
The aeroplane left the shelf with a little dip over the precipice and struck out for the west, passing nearly over the wondering boy’s head. The acetylene lamp which had been arranged on the forward framework was burning brightly, and Jimmie could see that both seats were occupied. The lamp had been turned low just before his departure.
The boy paused at the summit and looked back into the valley. There was no need now for him to cross to the eastern slope. He had no doubt that the Louise had been stolen, and that Carl was driving her away under duress. In order to reach the camp he would be obliged to pass down the steep slope which led to the bottom of the valley.
Blaming himself for leaving the machine even for a moment, yet by no means disheartened at the calamity which had overtaken him, the boy turned his face to the south resolved to pass along the broken summit until he had passed the vicinity of the camp below and then work his way diagonally down the slope. As he took his first step downward he heard a voice softly calling his name.
“Jimmie!” the voice said. “Hello, Jimmie.”
Jimmie stopped and looked back. A figure was approaching him from the north, crouching down close to the slope of the rocks.
“Carl!” he called. “Is that you?”
“Sure!” was the reply. “I thought you had gone off in the machine.”