"Bennie, you chase back to the smelter and see if he's there by any chance," ordered Ranny, crisply, when Dale had finished. "The rest of us get in a close line and beat back along Court's territory. I can't imagine anything happening to him that Tompkins or Sanson wouldn't hear or know about--unless, of course, it's a joke."
His jaw squared in a way that boded ill for the volatile Courtlandt if this should prove to be one of his familiar escapades. But, somehow, Tompkins did not believe that this could be the explanation. Court had been too keenly enthusiastic about the search to delay it by senseless horse-play. Though he, no more than Ranny, could think of any accident which would render the boy unconscious without his making a sound of any sort, Dale took his place in the line with a feeling of distinct uneasiness.
So close together that they could almost touch each other's outstretched hands, the scouts started down the slope. There was little conversation, for by this time all were more or less worried. Just where they expected to find the missing boy would have been hard to tell, but a rabbit could scarcely have escaped their close scrutiny of bush and rock and thorny tangle.
It was fifteen minutes or so before they came to a giant rock that thrust its lichened bulk up from the forest mold. At least that was what it seemed at first--a single, flat-topped mass of stone, ten or twelve feet through and about as high. But passing close to one side, Tompkins and Sanson discovered that it was split in two pieces, one of which had fallen away from the other just enough to leave a jagged crack, not more than three feet wide, between them. A spreading mass of laurel screened the opening from any but the closest inspection, and as he pushed this to one side Dale gave a sudden start and stared intently at the ground beneath it.
"Look at that!" he exclaimed, turning to Frank, who was close behind.
The latter pressed forward and glanced over his shoulder. "What? Oh! You mean-- Gee! Didn't you break it off?"
Dale's heart was beating unevenly as he bent to pick up the tiny broken twig. There were three leaves on it, as fresh and green as those on the parent bush; the broken end showed white and living. He met Sanson's glance and, dropping the twig, stepped into the jagged crevice. A moment later he gave a smothered cry. At his feet lay a scout hat of brown felt. A few inches beyond yawned a black hole, the leaves and mold and rotten branches about its edges scuffed and torn and freshly broken.