“I guess it’ll be night before I get there,” he thought and it was only a little after ten o’clock when, from the top of a small hill, he looked down upon the little town, nestling at its foot.
The town boasted a telegraph office and, making his way thither, he sent a message to Rex’s father in Philadelphia, telling him that he was all right. He also telegraphed to his own father telling him that they had found Rex and would start for Moosehead Lake next day. This done he explained matters to the operator and asked him to whom he should apply.
“Jim Dugan is a deputy. He lives right across the street in that white house. Guess you better see him,” the man advised.
Bob found Jim Dugan a genial man about fifty years old and anxious to help him after he had heard the story.
“But I can’t hardly believe it of Parry Magloire,” he declared when Bob told him what happened. “I know Parry well. He’s been guiding round here for all of five years and I never heard of his cutting up any tricks before. Guess he must have had a brain storm. Now I’ll get hold of Joe Hinkson and after we get a bite ter eat we’ll start back with you. We can drive up to within about a mile of the lake all right.”
Bob was very glad to know that he would not have to tramp all the way back.
Joe Hinkson was a young man but a few years older than Bob, but he was, as Bob could see, a powerfully built man.
They found the road in fair shape for that time of year and it was only a little past two o’clock when the deputy announced.
“We’ll ave ter hoof it from here.”
They donned snow-shoes and at once struck off through the thick woods.