It was labour wasted, Mr. Wolston and Ernest plainly saw the way the elephants had passed, marked as it was by heavy footprints, trampled grass, broken branches, and crushed undergrowth. But of Jack himself there was not a sign; not even a sign that he had been wounded, not a drop of blood, not a single mark which might have put them on his track.
There was nothing for it but to go back to Rock Castle, whence they could start again on the search once more in better conditions.
The two traversed the portion of the pine forest which they had crossed that same evening. They walked all night and all day, and in the morning they arrived at the entrance to the defile of Cluse.
"My boy! My poor boy!" Mme. Zermatt murmured over and over again.
She fell into the arms of Mrs. Wolston and her daughter, who were on their knees beside her.
M. Zermatt and Ernest, plunged in grief, could not utter a word.
"This is what we must do, without losing a minute," Mr. Wolston said at last, resolutely.
M. Zermatt turned to him.
"What?" he asked.
"We are going back to Rock Castle, and we will start out from there again this very day to find Jack's tracks. I have thought of everything, my dear Zermatt, and I entreat you to do what I suggest.