“A tin dipper,” was the reply. “It must have fallen off one of the sleds.”
Hamp instantly struck a match, and the flame revealed plain sled-marks leading across the valley.
“We’re outwitted again,” groaned Brick. “This is awful luck.”
“Yes; the rascal must have pulled out the minute he heard us go down the ravine,” said Jerry. “By this time he has a big start.”
The situation of the lads was now truly deplorable. Yet their very helplessness made it necessary for them to push on.
The trail of the sleds led to an easy pass in the opposite range of mountains. The boys trudged rapidly through this, and emerged in what seemed to be a broad, deep valley.
They pushed on for a quarter of a mile. Then they were stopped by a deep and rapid stream, which was frozen along the edge.
But one match was now left. Hamp cautiously lit it, and it was instantly seen that the thief had turned down the valley.
“We’re still on the right track, anyhow,” said Jerry. “We can’t well miss the rascal, either. He’ll stick to the stream until he finds a place to cross.”
“He won’t find one very soon,” declared Hamp. “This is the Mallowgash Creek, if I’m not mistaken. It flows into Chesumcook, and it’s broad and deep all the way. It’s too swift to freeze.”