“Then it’s up to us to search the whole cañon, or a good piece of it, around here,” declared Hal Kenyon.
Several others agreed with him, although a few of the more doubtful said they were just as ready to believe that the bag had been dropped outside of the cañon.
“I bet it dropped right on the peak of Bowlder Mountain, or maybe on the top of Flathead,” one boy even declared.
It was now half past three o’clock, and as it would be dark early in the cañon, the boys set to work diligently to cover as much ground as possible before daylight failed them. They divided up the territory, and each boy tried to confine his search to his assignment.
Hal had a stretch of several acres along the creek at the base of Flathead Mountain. In the course of an hour he went over it thoroughly, without finding the treasured bag and hearing no joyful cry of discovery from any of the other boys. Meanwhile it occurred to him that the bag might just as well have fallen into the river as any other place, and he determined to search in the water also.
This required a good deal of time. In some of the wider places the stream was shallow and he could see the stony or pebbly bottom. But in other places he found it necessary to exercise greater care. He took off his shoes and stockings and rolled up his trousers as high as he could; then he waded in and began a thorough search. Where the water was too deep for wading, he used his hike-stick to feel the bottom.
In the meantime other boys, to whom had been assigned other sections along the creek, observed what Hal was doing and followed his example. The search went along quietly, for all of the Scouts were too widely separated to engage in much conversation. When they became hungry, they ate their sandwiches and drank spring water and then returned to their work.
But at last it grew too dark for further hunting among the rocks, trees and bushes, or even in the open, and Mr. Porter called them together. The search seemed to have been in vain. The leather bag of the aviator was still lost, and nobody believed that it would ever be found, unless by accident.
“Well, we did our best anyway,” said Byron Bowler.
“You bet we did, Bun,” agreed Pickles, following the general boy habit of shortening Byron to “Bun.” “I’m tired.”