After a cold dinner, the boys donned snowshoes and oilskin coats and sallied forth again. They traveled down the lake as far as the point where they had seen the men make a crossing. Then they entered the forest, and tramped backward and forward for several hours.
But not a trace could be found of the two prospectors, Raikes and Bogle, or their camp. The boys searched long and carefully, and varied their shouts by firing guns at frequent intervals. No reply came back. The stillness of death reigned in the forest.
“It’s no use,” declared Jerry. “We may as well give up and return. I don’t suppose the men had more than a campfire, and the traces of that are buried under the snow.”
“But what became of them?” asked Hamp.
“I don’t know,” replied Jerry. “I’m sure they’re not dead, anyhow.”
“I’ll bet they packed up and left for a safer neighborhood as soon as they knew the storm was coming,” said Brick. “They didn’t leave since, for we would see their tracks on the snow.”
“That’s about it,” assented Jerry. “No doubt they struck back toward the mountains. They didn’t worry about us, for Raikes knew how snugly we were fixed.”
This solution to the mystery was accepted, and the boys returned to their camp.
On the way back Jerry shot a brace of spruce partridges, and these made a savory supper, varied with two fresh pickerel which Hamp snared through a hole in the ice.
A blazing fire was made at the mouth of the tunnel, and here the meal was cooked and eaten.