He knew full well that unless some accident had befallen him, his father would have returned before dark; that he would not have allowed himself to be led so far away from the camping-place that he could not readily return; and the boy's sorrow was all the greater because it was impossible to console his mother. Clambering into the wagon, he put his arms around her neck, pressing his cheek close against hers, and during what seemed a very long while the two remained silent, not daring to give words to their fears. Then Dick bethought himself of a plan which offered some slight degree of hope, and starting up suddenly, said,-- "I ought to have done it before, an' it ain't too late now." "Done what, Dick dear?" "Gone out in the direction father took, and fired the rifle two or three times. It may be he has lost his bearings, and the report of the gun would be enough to let him know where we are." "But you must not go now that it is dark, my boy. Suppose you should lose your way? Then what would become of Margie and me?" "There's no danger of that, mother. I've been in the woods often enough to be able to take care of myself, surely." "Your father would have said the same thing when he set out; but yet we know some accident must have befallen him." "Let me go only a little way, mother." "Of what avail would that be, my son? If the purpose is to discharge your rifle, hoping father may hear the report, why not do it here?" "I will, if you won't let me go farther." "I can't, Dick dear. I might be braver under other circumstances, but now the thought of your leaving me is more than I can bear." "I won't go so far but that I can see the wagon," Dick said, kissing his mother and little Margie much as though bidding them good-by; and a few moments later the report of his rifle almost startled the occupants of the wagon. During the next hour Dick discharged his weapon at least twelve times, but there was no reply of whatsoever nature. If his father was alive and within hearing, he was too badly disabled to give token of his whereabouts. The supply of cartridges was not so large that very many could be used without making a serious inroad upon the store; and realizing the uselessness of further efforts in this direction, Dick went back to the wagon. Margie had fallen asleep, her head pillowed in her mother's lap; and Mrs. Stevens, unwilling to disturb the child, was taking such rest as was possible while she leaned against the canvas covering of the wagon. Dick seated himself beside her. It was not necessary he should speak of his failure, for she knew that already.