"Gone—every blessed one!" he groaned. "Not a thing left!"
"Robbed?" gasped Bob Somers. "How many did you have?"
"A powerful number, cap'n."
Yardsley stood perfectly still and gazed around with a dazed air.
"Every blessed one," he repeated. "An' I was 'most ready ter take 'em ter town." His arms dropped to his side, and he looked toward Bob Somers in the utmost dejection.
"Well, we can't do any good standing here," cried Bob. "Let's investigate and get after 'em."
"That's the idea!" exclaimed Yardsley, his look of dismay giving place to one of intense anger.
"Jest let me come up with them rascals, that's all." He made an expressive motion, then darted outside, his eyes roving over the ground.
"Carted 'em away on a big sled," he exclaimed. "See, cap'n—tracks as plain as the nose on yer face. An' the rascals was on snow-shoes."
"I'll skip over to camp and get some of the fellows!" cried Bob. "Then the whole crowd can follow."