“Him much nice boy,” said the young Cree. “Hope nothing hurt him.”
“Well, he’s staying away a blamed long time,” said Larry, uneasily. “Perhaps we ought to go off on a search.”
“While the grub is cooking I’ll do it,” cried Tom. “Come along?”
“Me go, too,” said Thunderbolt.
The three scouts departed at once, and did not return until Dave was placing the steaming viands on a long pine table which stood in the middle of the room.
“No news,” announced Larry, “although we nearly yelled our heads off.”
“Bad—very bad!” cried Thunderbolt.
“If I didn’t know Bob Somers so well I’d feel worried,” remarked Dave Brandon. “But he’s a strong, courageous and resourceful chap. We can save his share of the meal.”
In spite of anxiety every one possessed a tremendous appetite. After their long ride it seemed almost impossible to get enough.
While the big square window still framed in an expanse of greenish sky and glowing clouds Tom lighted an oil lamp that hung from the ceiling, and its dull yellow glow partly chased away the gloom which pervaded their surroundings.