“It’s glorious!” Alex declared, presently. “We’ve got to the point where we can appreciate a little quiet. If Gran could come walking in on us now, things would be about right, don’t you think?”
“Just about right—provided Case could catch another fish like the last one,” was the reply. “I don’t know what to think about Gran.”
“I don’t think about him at all,” Alex hastened to say. “I’ve got rid of it all! I’m waiting for the puzzle to solve itself.”
“Where did the boy come from, and where is he going, and why did he come to us at the pass, and who is he, and why is he meeting strangers in the woods without our knowledge, and has he been carried off by force? And many other wheres and whys,” Clay laughed.
“I give it up!” was Alex’s reply. “As I said before, I’m waiting for the puzzle to solve itself. When it does, we’ll know where my films went to, and that will help some. That’s the key to the whole thing—the film robbery heads the list.”
There was nothing more to talk about, for no amount of guesswork could unravel the mystery, and no combination of words seemed capable of throwing a single ray of light on the matter. The Rambler ran on through the night, carrying prow lights and side lights, and covered many miles before the morning sun lifted over the mountains and looked down on the river.
“What about loitering around for a time in the hope of finding Gran?” asked Case, as he came from the cabin, rubbing his eyes, and noted that the Rambler was under full speed. “We ought to look for him, anyway.”
“We’ve given that up,” Alex answered. “We’re going right on about our business, fishing and hunting, and having all the fun we can, regardless of all mystery. We might look for Gran a thousand years, in this wilderness, and never find him. Also we might hunt for our lost rowboat until sheep grow wings, and never set eyes on it. Some one stole the boat, and some one abducted Gran. That’s all there is to it.”
“Yes,” Clay said, comings to the assistance of the boy, “that is all there is to it By to-morrow morning, if we keep on at this rate, we’ll strike the place where the Columbia skirts a mountain and turns squarely to the south. At that place there is a human habitation or two, and we may hear something of the boy there. In the meantime, it is you to catch another fish.”
“For breakfast, too,” chimed in Alex who seldom was out of healthy appetite. “I’m tired of pancakes and bacon, and fried mush, and boiled potatoes, and canned beans. Oh, oh,” he shouted, jumping to his feet, “there’s the bear meat!”