But Jacques shook his head.
“Dog no geet scent after snow,” he declared.
“You don’t know Sicum,” Bob said. “That dog would smell Jack, if he knew that his life might depend on it, through a foot of snow. What say, Tom?”
“Sure and it’s meself as thinks the bye’s right. It’s worth a try anyhow.”
So they struck off to the east and in about three quarters of an hour the small log cabin hove in sight.
“Gee, but I don’t believe he’s home,” Bob said in a tone filled with disappointment, as he saw that no smoke was coming from the chimney.
A moment later his fear was confirmed when they found the door locked and repeated knocking brought no response.
“Now what’ll we do?” he asked, leaning against the cabin.
“Go back and try to pick up the trail,” Tom proposed, but Jacques shook his head.
“She no bon,” he declared. “No can find heem.”