“But what do you suppose could have happened to him?” Jack asked anxiously.
“Of course there are plenty of things which might have happened,” Bob replied slowly. “He might have been drowned, or he might have gotten lost, or the Indian might have done away with him for his money.”
“But this paper is two days old and of course he may be home safe and sound by this time,” Jack suggested.
“That’s so, of course.” Bob looked slightly relieved, for Rex Dale had helped him at a time when he had been desperately in need of help, and the thought that his friend might be in serious danger or worse was worrying him not a little.
“But just the same I’m going to send a telegram and see if I can find out anything,” he said, jumping up and going to the telephone. “Hope the Skowhegan office isn’t closed.”
After some delay he finally got the office and sent a wire to Mr. Dale asking if he had heard from Rex.
“There, we ought to get an answer as soon as the office is open in the morning,” he declared as he hung up.
Tired though he was, it was long before Bob slept that night. Over and over again he told himself that Rex was probably safe at home by now and that he was foolish to worry. But the fear that all might not be well with him persisted in spite of himself. He well knew the vastness of the Maine woods, and the Indian guides were not always to be trusted. But finally, after he had heard the clock down in the office strike eleven, twelve and one, he fell into a troubled sleep.
It was nearly eight o’clock when he awoke. Jack was still sleeping and, without waking him, Bob hurriedly dressed and, running down to the office, he called the telegraph office at Skowhegan. But no answer to his wire had been received. He requested the operator to call him as soon as the reply came, and then went into the dining room and ordered breakfast. He had hardly started on the meal when Jack joined him.
“Heard anything?” the latter asked.