They did “look around over the hills.” They searched until darkness began to fall, but discovered no trace of their missing comrade.
“Might as well go back to camp,” suggested Jennings. “He may have found his way back. He—he’s sure to turn up.”
There was a tone in his voice which suggested that Curlie might not turn up.
Hungry and weary, they were making their way back to camp when, on reaching the end of the willow clump farthest from camp old Ginger suddenly pricked up his ears and springing into the bushes attempted to drag his teammates after him.
“Hey there, you Ginger!” shouted Joe. “What you doin’ there. Got a rabbit er something?”
“Might be a trail,” said Jennings excitedly. “Cut him out of the team; hang on to his trace, follow him and see where he takes you.”
To Joe’s great astonishment the dog led him straight to a willow bush camp and the ashes of a burned-out fire.
“A camp!” he exclaimed. Then he shouted:
“Oh, Jennings! Tie up the other dogs and come in here.
“Do you think it could have been Curlie that made this camp?” he asked after the miner had looked it over.