“But all of us had rifles strapped to our saddles when we set out from Fort Good Faith,” he pointed out.
“You and I—but not Toma! When Toma and I went out on our hunting trip a few days ago, he broke the trigger-spring on his gun, and yesterday, when we returned, he left it at the Indian village to be repaired. When you wakened us last night, I had my rifle in my room. Toma had none. I know I’m right about this, Dick.”
It was the other’s turn to become alarmed. With an excited exclamation he stepped forward, and with fumbling fingers began to remove his own rifle from the saddle. Sandy followed suit. Without further preliminary, they hurried to the rescue.
Shoulders hunched, faces wet with melting snow, they darted forward through the underbrush. Dick’s heart was beating miserably at the thought of this new danger. Had Toma also been waylaid—probably murdered? Desperately, he stared ahead, expecting momentarily to find the crumpled figure of the young guide lying in the snow. They progressed farther and farther away from the trail. Sandy’s breath came in choking gasps.
“Toma! Toma!” he kept repeating.
Presently their hopes mounted. Thus far they had found nothing. Perhaps the young Indian was still alive. Perhaps in some miraculous way he had escaped the half-breed’s death-dealing bullets.
Through the blinding snow-mist directly ahead, they made out the vague outline of Settlement House River. Toma’s tracks had become obliterated here. They had emerged upon an open space across which the wind had full sweep. They would be unable now to track Toma down. If they found him at all, it would be through some lucky chance, rather than through any direct effort on their part. Fifty yards ahead, standing like a huge sentinel, guarding the descent to the river, the boys discerned a large jack-pine.
Toward it they made their way, reached it after a short interval, and glanced down along the slope expectantly. But there was no sign of anyone. The storm now had reached its height. Snow and sleet lashed across the earth. Trees bent their heads before the furious blast. Both Dick and Sandy had seen many blizzards, but never such a one as this.
Sandy took Dick’s arm and shouted above the roar of the storm.
“No use in standing here, Dick. We may miss Toma altogether. If he’s alive, he’s probably back to the trail by this time. Come on! Let’s hurry over there ourselves.”