"So he is!" murmured Sam. He raised his voice: "Tom! Tom! where are you?"
There was no reply to this call, and all in the tent gazed at each other questioningly. Then the match went out, leaving them in darkness as before.
"I don't like this," muttered Dick, and he made his way outside, followed by the others. Fred had loaded a sliotgun and he caught up the piece. Hans walked to the smouldering fire and threw on some dry brushwood which soon caused a glare.
All looked around the tent, but failed to catch sight of Tom. Then they hurried to the edge of the lake, but nobody was there.
"Tom! I say Tom!" yelled Sam. "Where are you?"
All listened, but no reply came back. But they heard a curious noise at a distance up the lake shore.
"Maybe he is in trouble!" cried Dick. "Spread out and look for him!"
One of the boys ran tip the shore and one down, and Fred and Hans walked towards the woods, the former carrying the shotgun.
"Do you dink a—a bear cotched him?" asked the German youth, in a tragic whisper.
"I don't know what to think," answered Fred.
