“Chunky”—as his companions sometimes called him—“is probably asleep somewhere about,” suggested Emma Dean. “You know what a wonderful sleeper he is.”
“I doubt it,” answered Grace reflectively. “Was he in the creek?”
Nora said she did not know.
“That makes two of our party that are missing. What are we going to do?” begged Nora, tears of anxiety springing to her eyes.
“We will search for him in the vicinity of the village. That is all we can do. If we do not find him we simply shall have to wait until the men return to-night,” decided Grace.
“If Hamilton were only here he would know what is best,” complained Emma.
Grace gave her a look of rebuke.
“Mr. White probably will find the boy. He will leave nothing undone, of that we girls are certain, and we shall have to make the best of a bad situation, which may not be nearly so bad as it seems,” comforted Grace. “Come, let us take different directions and search the village and its immediate vicinity.”
“I have another one to demonstrate over now. I don’t want to demonstrate over Chunky, but I suppose it wouldn’t be honest not to,” complained Emma. “This is terrible.”
The girls separated and made a careful search about the village and out among the trees, as far from the village as they dared to go. There were still many little smouldering fires, but there was so little for them to feed upon that they could not spread.