“Oh, not much,” said Mr. Campbell.
“But why did you send for me in such a queer way?” asked Rick, “and why did you go off in such a hurry? What’s it all about?”
“I’ll tell you when I get around to it,” was the answer. “It’s a queer story, but maybe we can get to the bottom of it now. Just at present, though, we’re up a stump, so to speak. Stuck—at the end of the trail—badgered—up against it—anything you like to call it—eh, Sam?” and he looked at his partner.
“You said it,” came in gloomy tones from the other. “Might as well call it a day’s work and quit, I guess. I don’t want any more of scouting around in that hole,” and he nodded toward the black opening that seemed to lead into a mountain cavern.
“What’s it all about?” asked Rick in wonderment, while Ruddy nosed here and there, trying to make himself at home.
“Lost River—that’s what it’s about,” answered Uncle Tod. “Lost River, and until we find it we’re in bad shape.”
“What do you mean—a lost river?” asked Rick. “Who lost it and where was it lost?”
“Ought to be easy to find a lost river,” remarked Chot.
“Not so easy as it seems,” said gloomy Sam Rockford, and the boys were to learn that he was always this way—the least upsetting of his plans, or those of his friends, made him utter the most dire predictions. And he was always ready to quit at the least sign of opposition. Though when matters went right he was the most jolly of companions. “We’ll never see it again,” he added, desperately.
“But what’s it all about?” persisted Rick. “Where is the lost river?”