As he neared the other corner he stumbled over an object lying on the snow. A flash from his light showed him that it was a gallon oil can. He picked it up and, unscrewing the top, smelled of the contents.
“Gasoline,” he whispered. “Now I wonder what that’s doing out here.” And then the thought struck him that he did not remember ever having seen a can of that kind anywhere about the camp. Throwing the light of his flash about him, he eagerly searched for tracks, but the surface of the snow was as hard as ice and he could see nothing which gave him the slightest clue. Carrying the can in his hand, he crept around the building until he had made a complete circuit.
“And I know just as much as when I started,” he thought as he listened again. “One thing is sure though,” he muttered. “Something has happened or Jack would have been back long before this.”
After waiting a moment in deep thought, he decided that he had better go back to the office.
“He may have turned off and came around another way and be waiting for me all the time,” he thought.
But the hope was vain for, as he approached the little office, no answer came to his low whistle.
He had brought the oil can with him, and having stepped inside the door he examined it more closely by the aid of his flash. It was a very ordinary can and he had about given up the hope of obtaining a clue from it, when his eye caught sight of two letters in the tin near the bottom. B. D. he made out, and a slight shudder passed down his back as a horrible thought struck him.
“B. D. stands for Ben Donahue. Someone came here with that can of gas intending to set fire to the bunk house,” flashed through his mind, as he stood rooted to the spot. “Jack must have discovered him or them and they gave it up. But what have they done with Jack?” And another shudder shook him as he realized that the boy was probably in the power of someone who was desperate enough to set fire to a building in which many men were sleeping.
“What shall I do? What can I do?” were the questions which flashed through his mind over and over again.
And then a sudden feeling of hope came to him as he remembered that Jacques Lamont was there, and in almost no time he was inside the bunk house creeping softly toward the farther end where he knew Jacques was sleeping. He thought he knew the right bunk and as he reached the end of the room a flash showed him that he was right. The Frenchman was in a lower bunk and kneeling on the floor Bob put his lips as close as possible to his ear and whispered, “Jacques.”