Dick looked deeply worried.
“Yes, the three of us did the same thing. As you say, they have disappeared, and I fear we have lost our blankets and provisions and extra ammunition.”
His words created a panic in the breast of his comrade, for Roger scrambled to his feet from his knees, clutching the sleeve of Dick’s deerskin hunting tunic, and crying out:
“Oh! can it be possible that they were carried down with that avalanche when the slip occurred? And do you think we can recover them again?”
“I hope so,” replied the other lad, soberly, “for it will be a serious thing for us if we lose all we had in those packs. But we must be careful how we approach the edge, if it crumbles so easily. We would not care to be carried after our blankets, riding an avalanche!”
Cautiously picking their way, they finally managed to creep to where they could look down into the yawning abyss. It filled them with awe and despair. So far as they could see the walls were almost perpendicular, and extended far beyond their limited range of vision.
“We could never get down there alive,” Roger confessed, as he looked shudderingly into the chasm that had swallowed up their valued possessions. “And I am afraid we have seen the last of those blankets.”
“Of course,” said the other, consolingly, “once we return to the camp we can obtain warm furs from the Indians, that will take their place for sleeping purposes.”
“But what are we to do now,” reasoned Roger, “far away from the Mandan village, and so situated that we dare not build a camp fire at night, no matter how bitter cold it turns?”