The boys commenced feverishly to tear into their clothes, and, in less than two minutes, they were bounding down the stairs into the trading room. Factor Scott looked up in surprise at their precipitous entrance.
“What’s wrong now?”
“Mr. Scott, have you seen Toma?”
The factor rubbed his chin. “Why, no, I haven’t. Didn’t he come in last night?”
The boys did not answer. Bolting to the door, they ran outside. They began searching everywhere. They made inquiries of every person they met. Organizing a search party, they scoured the woods in the vicinity of the post. That afternoon at three o’clock, beaten and discouraged, they returned to the trading room to see if by any chance Toma had returned during their absence. Factor Scott met them at the door.
Dick’s and Sandy’s dejected appearance told the story. The factor knew without asking that they had been unsuccessful. He endeavored to comfort them.
“We mustn’t worry,” he said, placing a kindly arm about the shoulders of the disconsolate pair. “I feel sure that Toma is safe. I really can’t make myself believe there has been foul play.”
“Wish I could think that,” Sandy’s eyes were tragic.
“Mr. Scott,” requested Dick, “may we see you alone for a few moments?”
“Why, yes. Certainly.”