"I’m almost ready to believe," declared Leslie, "that the boys had the sticks in their packs when they left."
Weimer shook his head. "No, never would dose poys pe so foolish. Dose sticks are here, hein? Somewhere in Meadow Creek Valley ve vill find dem," but the old man’s voice broke on the declaration.
"Of course it couldn’t be that the McKenzies carried them away," affirmed Ross. "If there had been six men of them they couldn’t have carried away all the dynamite that we had and Wilson had and they had. In fact they couldn’t have carried it all very far that night and in the teeth of the awful storm that howled among these peaks. I believe with Uncle Jake that the stuff is in this valley."
"You see, Uncle Jake," Ross began after a pause, "we have gone on the supposition that they chose a spot under the cover of rocks or in hollow trees, some place where the dynamite would be kept dry. Now, it may be that they have dug a hole in the snow and ice, and buried it in the open, and the snow has drifted over its grave."
"Maype! maype!" Weimer ejaculated. "Put, if dey haf, our goose, it ist cooked."
He pushed the box on which he sat back against the wall.
Ross opened the cabin door, and looked out. The weather had grown warmer. The blanket of clouds which had hovered over the earth for days had lifted and the snow lay dazzling in the strong light. When he closed the door, Weimer had donned his blue goggles.
"Where’s your big storm, Uncle Jake?" asked Ross.
"Comin’, comin’," answered Uncle Jake confidently. "It vill pe on us py mornin’. Dis light it vill not last."
Ross sat down and took his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees.