The catastrophe he feared did not occur quite as soon as he feared, although it came finally.
Twice more he saw the little craft, Sam rowing and Bob steering, and then she had disappeared.
By this time he was so near the outlet of the lake that it was impossible to say whether the men had crossed over into Upper Saranac, or were making camp near by.
During half an hour Jet sat concealed by the bushes where he could have a full view of the water, and no sign of life met his anxious gaze.
The only benefit derived from this halt was that he had lightened the bundle of provisions by making a hearty meal from a portion of its contents, and enjoyed the repose.
"There's no question but that they have either gone into camp on one of the islands, or kept on through the stream," he said, as he rose to his feet; "but I declare I don't know which way to turn."
He finally decided to walk to the outlet, scanning the shores of the island as he passed, and, failing in seeing any signs there, continue on until nightfall.
He tramped steadily for an hour without finding that for which he sought, and by this time was at the carry with the gloom of night settling rapidly around him.
Added to the desolateness of the situation was the sorrow caused by the belief that he had lost the trail at the very time when allowing Harvey to believe the men were where they could be arrested without difficulty.
"If I hadn't sent that telegram," he thought, mournfully, "Jim would have been here to help keep them in sight, or, if we lost them entirely as I have done, he'd have some sort of an idea where they went to."