Sam couldn’t offer reasonable explanation. Lon grunted:
“Ugh! Been a boy myself, and had the benefit of your society, Sam, to keep my hand in, but hanged if I can make out why boys’ll do things that wouldn’t get a vote at an election in a lunatic asylum! But that ain’t gettin’ us nowhere or nohow. Let’s go back!”
They splashed through the puddles, plowed through the snow where it still lay deep, broke a way through the swampy thickets. Both, it may be, were in hopes of seeing Mr. Grant and Orkney at the camp, but nobody was in sight near the building.
Lon now turned attention to the trail leading up the valley.
“I dunno’s this is more promisin’, but I can’t say it’s any less. Maybe it’s fresher—must say, though, they all look a lot alike to me. And when you don’t know anything about a thing, why——”
“Hullo!” Sam broke in. “Here comes Orkney!”
Tom was hurrying along at the best pace he could make in his big, borrowed rubber boots. There was a look of anxiety on his face, but he spoke quietly when he joined Sam and Lon.
“Mr. Grant told me to look you up. No; I’ve no news—that is, we didn’t find anything. But when we got a look at the river, Mr. Grant decided he’d send his man down to the foot of the valley at once. So he made a short cut for the house, and I started to hunt you up. I’ll work with you.”
“Then——” Sam began unsteadily.
“Don’t jump to the conclusion that Mr. Grant thinks Varley and the Shark have been carried down-stream. Only the river is a lot higher than he expected to find it, and the current’s swifter. So he is going to send his man down to the bridges. But he thought it might be well for you to scout the other way. I’ll help. I suppose he’ll follow us later.”