The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks or, The deserted bungalow on Saranac Lake
ten miles, and you girls had better not go more than three in any
direction from the bungalow. Then you won't be lost. We don't want to
have to search for two and even more lost persons," he added, with a
smile.
"Say, Sam," demanded Adolph, with the freedom of an old acquaintance,
"can't you furnish us with a guide? One that can pilot us around in the
woods near the bungalow. I know the forest pretty well, but I confess I
might get lost myself. Suppose you give us a guide and we'll organise a
searching party of our own."
"That's a good idea," Sam said. "I'll do that. Two parties ought to be
better than one, just as two heads are better than a single one. Now my
advice to you is to go back to your bungalow, and get a good night's
rest. We can't do much at night, anyhow, particularly at this stage.
Later on, if we have to make a torchlight search we can do it. But
there's no need now. Go home and rest. I'll be getting ready for the
guides. They'll soon be coming in, that is, all that aren't out with
summer parties."
"Will they all hear that horn?" asked Sylvia, indicating the one Sam
had blown.
"Well, not all, miss. But them as does hear it will blow another of
their own, and so on. The word will be passed along."
"Hark!" exclaimed Rose.
From somewhere off in the forest there came the mellow notes of another
conch horn. Clear and pleasant it sounded, and had it not been for the
import of the blast, the girls would have enjoyed it, for the tones
fell sweetly on the evening air. But now it seemed sadly melancholy.
"That'll be Jim Judson," said Sam. "He'll make them hear as I couldn't.
We'll soon have quite a party here. I'll attend to the rest now, so you
folks had better go back to the bungalow and get some sleep."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Sylvia, wearily. "It is all we can do until
morning."
"And you will be able to do all the better work in the morning if you
rest to-night, my dear," said Mrs. Brownley. "You look quite tired out."
Indeed Sylvia did look worn out, for she had not slept, and though the
girls were sturdy, and accustomed to long tramps in the woods, they
were all tired now. A rest would be a benefit to all of them.
"Well, let us go back," suggested Mr. Russman.
"Yes, the sooner we begin to rest the sooner we shall be able to take
up the search," Mrs. Brownley added.
Rose and Sylvia walked together on the back trail. It was as if they
had a common bond of sympathy between them, as indeed they had. They
did not say much, partly because they were too tired, and also for the
reason that they were doing much thinking.
"Oh, isn't it just dreadful!" murmured Rose, as they walked along in
the gathering twilight.
"I can't bear it--sometimes!" agreed Sylvia. "To think of his being out
there," and she indicated the forest that surrounded them.
As they walked along they could hear, now and then, the calling of the
conch shell, as one guide signalled from his lonely cabin, or camp, to
another of his fellows. The sounds came sweetly over the ocean of green
trees.
It cannot be said that any of the party ate with good appetites when
the bungalow was reached. But even the food they did take was of
benefit to them. Sylvia felt much stronger, and certainly more hopeful
after the meal, and so did Rose.
But she and the others dreaded the long night, when many thoughts would
crowd in upon them. A part of the evening was spent in talk with Harry,
who told of Roy's condition since he had come to the Adirondacks with
him. The lost chemical formula had, it appeared, bothered the patient
more than a little. It was really keeping him from getting well.
"And then came this outbreak," Harry went on. "It seemed to be the
climax. I never saw Roy do anything more suddenly than when he leaped
away from the table and rushed out into the woods. And he seemed to
disappear as if the very earth had swallowed him up. But we'll find
him--never fear!" he exclaimed, as he saw a look of pain pass over the
face of Sylvia. "We'll get him back."
Sylvia and the others slept from very exhaustion, and in Sylvia's case,
particularly, the hours of rest in the darkness performed a much-needed
service. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but was saved
from it.
She was awake early--much earlier than any of the others--and feeling
that she could not sleep any more, and that to lie in bed, tossing
restlessly about, would only make her more nervous, she arose, took a
bath, dressed and went downstairs. Only the servants were about.
Sylvia went out on the porch. Sitting on a stump somewhat down the path
was a man--a typical guide. He was idly whittling a stick, the soft,
curling shavings falling in a heap at his feet. Sylvia guessed who he
was.
"Good morning," she said.
The guide did not start. It was as if he had seen her come out and had
known she was going to speak, though his back was toward the house.
"Mornin'," he said, in a mellow voice. "Old Sam sent me up here to help
with the searchin' party."
"I'm glad," said Sylvia, eagerly. "It is my brother who is lost. Oh,
tell me! do you think we shall find him?"
"Of course, miss. Sartin sure!" he exclaimed, shutting his knife with
a snap and standing up. He was tall and lanky, but he had a good face,
and his blue eyes seemed to look right through one.
There was an early breakfast. The guide, who was known to Mr. Russman
and his son, listened carefully to a statement of what had happened,
and nodded his head.
"All right," he said. "We'll try all the trails around here. Now, if
you're ready, we'll start. Old Sam and the others are on the search
long ago."
And so they started off once more to find the missing one.
CHAPTER XXXII
LOST
Pete Wharton, the guide who had been sent by Old Sam, looked critically
over the little party he was leading into the woods, and along the
trails that formed a network for several miles about the Russman
bungalow. They did not intend to get more than three miles away from
the bungalow in any direction.
"Well, I reckon we're pretty well equipped," said Pete, as if satisfied
with his scrutiny. "We've got plenty of blank cartridges to fire for
signals, and we've got whistles and horns. There's enough grub for the
lunch, and we've got to come back by dark, anyhow."
"I've got some of those pocket electric flashlights," explained Harry.
"Well, maybe they're all right for you folks, but I'd rather have a
good oil lantern or a bark torch," the guide said. "Howsomever, maybe
we won't need either."
The man who ran Mr. Russman's motor boat was to go along to carry the
lunch basket, which included a coffee pot and a little alcohol stove,
for they did not want to wait to build a camp fire.
The girls wore their short walking skirts and stout shoes, for the
trail was anything but smooth. Each one carried a stick Pete had cut
for her.
Sylvia tried to get Mrs. Brownley to remain at home, but the chaperon
stoutly refused to desert.
"I can walk as well as any of you girls!" she said, with a smile, "and
I want to know, as soon as you do, when Roy is found."
"Oh, I do hope we find him soon!" cried Sylvia. "He might become
hopelessly lost on these mountains. Men have done so before and have
lost their lives from exposure."
"Not very often," Harry made haste to say. "And now, when the woods are
full of camping and pleasure parties, when every lake and stream has
canoeists on it, and when such a large searching party--two of them, in
fact--is out, Roy surely will be found."
"I wish I had your faith," said Rose, in a low voice.
"You _must_ have it!" Harry said to her, in a whisper, so that Sylvia
would not hear. "We must all help her to keep up," he urged, and Rose
knew well to whom he referred. "If she collapses on our hands we shall
have to send for Mr. or Mrs. Pursell, and you know what that would
mean."
"Oh, I shouldn't be discouraged, I know," murmured Rose. "And I'll try
not to be. But it _is_ very hard."
"I understand," said Harry, sympathetically.
"But you needn't be afraid Sylvia will collapse," Rose went on. "She
isn't that kind."
"I didn't think she was, and I don't want you to show the white
feather, either." He spoke a trifle sharply, but he had a purpose in it.
A little red spot burned in either of the formerly pale cheeks of Rose.
"The white feather!" she exclaimed. "How dare you suggest such a thing!
I--I----"
"There, there," broke in Harry, soothingly. "No need to fly off the
handle! I just don't want to put too much on Sylvia. After all, Roy is
_her_ brother."
"Yes, but he is my----"
Rose stopped short, blushed vividly and turned aside her head. Harry
smiled to himself.
"I thought that would fetch her," he thought. "We shan't have any
more trouble from her. She'll keep her nerves together for the sake
of Sylvia, and Sylvia will do the same for Rose. That," he added to
himself more or less judicially, "is what might be called playing both
ends against the middle." Harry was pleased with his tactics.
Under the direction of Pete Wharton they adopted a systematic plan of
search. Pete knew every trail in the woods, and had them in his head
as a sort of map. Pete began at a certain place in reference to the
"deserted bungalow," as the girls often called the place to themselves,
and he said they would follow each trail in turn until they had reached
the three-mile limit. In some cases, he added, they might take in a
four-mile section.
They would start back toward the bungalow by another route on reaching
their set limit on the trail, and so cover the ground zigzag fashion.
Now and then, as the party advanced through the dense forest,
pierced only by narrow trails, they stopped and shouted Roy's name.
Occasionally shots were fired, and horns or whistles sounded. The other
party of guides, under the direction of Old Sam, was far enough away to
keep the sounds from conflicting, for Sam's party, also, was doubtless
calling and signalling in various ways.
Sylvia had hopes that it would take only a little searching on the part
of her friends to discover Roy. She had a feeling that he would become
weary of wandering in the woods all alone, that the delirium would
leave him, and that he would be found trying to make his way back to
the bungalow.
"And if he does go back--I mean if he wanders back of his own accord,
we'll not say anything to him; shall we?" propounded Rose, as she and
the others paused for a moment on the brink of a little hill, while
Mrs. Brownley, in the rear, sat on a log to rest.
"Say anything to him--what do you mean?" demanded Sylvia, who was in
advance, and she turned around quickly. "Why shouldn't we say anything
to him? Just because he----"
"Oh, I didn't mean it that way at all, my dear!" exclaimed Rose
quickly, as the red mounted to her cheeks again. "You didn't understand
me. I meant that if we didn't find Roy----"
"Oh, we are sure to find him!" interrupted Hazel. "Don't suggest such
dire possibilities, my dear."
"I didn't exactly mean that, either," hastily protested Rose.
"Give her a chance," suggested Sylvia. "I guess we're all so tired and
worried that we are getting on one another's nerves. What do you want
to say, Rose?" and she smiled at her chum; smiled, it is true, but in
so wan and mirthless a fashion that the hearts of all ached for her.
"What I was trying to say," resumed Rose, "was that if Roy did, by some
good fortune, make his way back to the bungalow alone, as he is very
apt to do, and if we came back from our search and found him there,
wouldn't it be better not to say anything to him about his having gone
away?"
"Why, it isn't a secret; is it?" asked Alice.