“I told them to do so,” returned the guide.

They had fired several shots, but the reports had failed, as we know, to reach the ears of the missing Rovers.  They were now at their wits’ end regarding what to do next.

“I’d give a hundred dollars rather than have this happen,” went on Dick.  “Why, they’ll starve to death if they really get lost!”

“Oh, aint you mistaken there, Dick?  They have the other sled, remember; and each o’ ’em has a gun for to bring down any game as is wanted.”

“That’s true, and it’s one comfort.  But there is no telling when they reach civilization again.  Why, this forest is about as bad as some places in the far West.”

“I believe you there, lad.  Well, they’ve got to make the best o’ it.  I reckon they’ll strike out for the river and come up that to Bear Pond, over the rocks an’ rapids an’ all.”

Supper time found the pair on the river again, four miles below Bear Pond.  It was decided that they should camp at that spot for the night.

“We’ll build a big camp-fire and keep it a-going,” said Dick.  “Perhaps they will see it.”

“That’s an idee,” returned John Barrow, and before doing anything else the camp-fire was started, in an open spot along the river bank.  Dick saw to it that it blazed up merrily, and kept piling on all the dry brushwood he could find, until the flames shot up fully twenty feet into the air, making the surroundings as bright as day.

For supper they cooked another of the wild turkeys, but it must be confessed that Dick had little appetite for eating.  John Barrow noticed it, and he did his best to cheer up the youth.

“Don’t worry too much, lad,” he said.  “Take my word on it, they’ll turn up by morning, sure.  You’ve said yourself they’ve been through putty tryin’ times, in Africa out West.”

On the way to the river John Barrow had brought down several rabbits and some birds, and these were hung up on the low branches of a nearby tree.  They proceeded to make themselves comfortable under this tree, cutting down some cedar branches for a flooring, and banking up some other branches and some snow to keep off the wind.

“I don’t think I’ll go to sleep,” said Dick.  “I’m going to keep the fire piled high, so that it will light up as it’s doing now.”

“Then I’ll turn in right away,” answered the guide.  “It’s eight o’clock.  You call me at two, and that will be givin’ you a fair nap afore daybreak.”  And so it was agreed.

It did not take John Barrow long to settle himself, and soon he was snoring as peacefully as though lying in his bed at home.  Sitting down close to the fire, Dick gave himself up to his thoughts.

And what numerous thoughts they were—­of home and of school, of his brothers, and of the Baxters and their other enemies, and of all that had happened since they had first started to go to Putnam Hall.  And then he thought of the Lanings and of the Stanhopes, and lingered long over the mental picture of sweet Dora and of what she had last said to him.