"Let us yell that we are coming, and for them to wait," suggested the old miner.

"That's it," answered d.i.c.k. "Now then, I'll lead off."

And loud and clear rang the cry:

"_We are coming! We are coming! Wait for us! Wait! Wait!_"

To this some answer came back, but what it was they could not make out.

Then, in the silence that followed, they picked up their traps once more and went forward on the wearisome trail.

With each yard of advance the walking became more difficult. In some spots the rocks were covered with snow and they had to proceed with caution, for fear of a nasty tumble. They were climbing upward steadily and they noted with satisfaction that the cliffs seemed to become correspondingly lower.

"We'll be up there in quarter of an hour more," said Jack Wumble. "But don't ye try to go too fast. This trail is gittin' wuss an' wuss."

At last they came to some rocks where further progress seemed impossible. There had been something of a landslide, and big rocks covered the footpath for a distance of a hundred feet or more.

They gazed around the spot in perplexity.

"Well, one thing is certain," said Sam. "Tom and that man must have come this way, If they could get over these rocks we ought to be able to do the same thing."

"I think I see a way," said d.i.c.k. "Yes, here are some footprints in the snow and on this fallen tree. They climbed up by holding on to those branches. We can do the same thing."

"Don't ye try it!" yelled Jack Wumble. "Thet tree is loose! It might carry ye to the bottom of the mountain!"

"Hark!" called out Sam. "I hear something! What is that?"

All listened. From a distance came a curious swishing and cracking sound, followed by a wild sort of yell. Then came a crash--and then--utter silence.

CHAPTER XXII

IKE FURNER'S CAMP

"d.i.c.k, what was that?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Sam. Sounded like something falling."

"It was a tree sliding down the mountain," put in Jack Wumble. "A tree jest like the one you was goin' to take hold on."

"And somebody on it!" gasped Sam. "Oh, do you suppose it was Tom?"

At this question the old miner shrugged his shoulders.

"Ain't no tellin', Sam. Let us hope not, fer if he went down the mountain side----"

"He'd be killed!" finished d.i.c.k, and shuddered.

They listened and called out. But no answer came back, and they heard nothing more but the humming of the wind through the trees, for it had begun to blow stronger than before.

"Let's go a little further than this trail," suggested Jack Wumble.

"It looks to be better walking yonder."

"But we don't want to lose our way," returned Sam, rather impatiently.

The strange happenings of the day were getting on his nerves.

"We can come back here, if we need to," was the old miner's reply.

The Rovers followed him through some brushwood and then up a rough incline. Here the bushes growing between the rocks aided them, although they had to put on gloves, to keep from getting their hands badly scratched, for some of the growth was th.o.r.n.y.

"Well, here we are at last!" cried Sam, when the upper level of the trail was gained. He was almost out of breath, for the climb had been a long and hard one.

They were now in the midst of a field, with the snow coming down thickly all around them. Wumble led the way, looking for the spot above the fallen tree. To one side was the mountain top, to the other the valley, but all cut off from their view by the falling flakes of snow. It was so dark that they could scarcely distinguish the trail, even though Wumble was sure they were on it.

"Why not light a torch?" suggested d.i.c.k.

"That will help us, and may make the others see us--if they are near by."

This was considered a good suggestion, and the old miner picked out an extra dry bush that was long and slender. The top ignited readily, and he quickly swung it into a blaze. Then they went on once more, holding the torch at arm's length.

It was well that the light had been made, as they speedily found out.

Scarcely had they gone a hundred yards further when they reached a split in the mountain side.

"Stop!" yelled the old miner, and came to a halt at the very brink of a crevice ten or twelve feet wide and of unknown depth.

"There's a tree bridge!" said d.i.c.k, as the torch was swung around to light up the vicinity.

He pointed to where a slender tree had been cut down and allowed to fall across the chasm. It made a fairly good bridge, although they had to cross with care and only one at a time. Their traps they threw over the opening.

With the snow now blowing directly in their faces, they marched forward once more, Wumble throwing the light as far ahead as possible. Soon they reached another climb, up a series of rocks that looked almost like a pair of stairs.

"Look!" cried the old miner, a few minutes later, and he stopped to pick something up out of the snow. It was a wooden pipe.

"It must be that Ike Furner's," said d.i.c.k. "Tom doesn't smoke."

"Why, look, the pipe has tobacco in it, and it's still lit!" exclaimed Sam. "It couldn't have been dropped very long ago!"

"And that proves that the owner must be close by!" put in his brother.

"Let's call!" And he set up a ringing shout, in which Sam and Jack Wumble joined.

For fully a minute no answer came back. Then, from some height above them, issued an answering cry.

"Wave the torch, Jack!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, and the old miner did as requested.

All strained their eyes.

"I see a light!" exclaimed Sam. "See, over yonder!"