"What was that?" they asked each other.
"A shout for help," said Jack.
Joe sprang up and opened the door. Some confused sounds from the direction of the creek reached his ears, but he had not enough woodcraft to distinguish them from the legitimate sounds of the night.
The fire was black now. Big Jack struck a match.
"Sam's gone!" he cried suddenly.
Shand felt around the floor with his hands. "His blankets, too!" he added.
"Treachery!" cried Joe with an oath. "You wouldn't believe me before. That's why he hid the guns. Come on, I heard something from the creek."
They pulled on their moccasins and, snatching coats, ran out. Husky remained on the bed, cursing. At the creek-mouth the sand-bank was empty. The last pallid rays of the moon revealed nothing.
They were accustomed to come there many times a day to wash or to draw water, and the welter of foot-prints in the sand gave no clue. Finally Joe, with a cry, pounced on a dark object at the water's edge and held it up. It was Sam's neck handkerchief.
"Here's the mark of a boat, too, in the sand," he cried. "I knew it! Gone together in her boat!"