But they were doomed to disappointment; for although they worked hard all the afternoon, they were unable to locate the key log. Five o’clock found the logs as tightly jammed as ever. “She no use,” Jean panted, as he leaned on his peavey. “We got have powder.” The nearest town was several miles down the river, and it was doubtful if they would be able to get any dynamite there. But Jean declared that he was going to start, as soon as he could get his supper. “I keep goin’ till I find powder,” he declared, as he led the way back to the hotel. It was understood that the others would have another try at the logs in the morning. “Might as well be doin’ sumpin,” Sam said, with a mournful shake of his head. Jean started as soon as he had swallowed his supper, and Bob and Jack wandered into the little office, which at that time was deserted. “First time I’ve seen a paper for three days,” Bob declared, as he picked up the Boston Globe from the counter. “This is only two days old,” he smiled, as he gave part of it to Jack. They had been reading but a few minutes, when suddenly Bob started up with an exclamation of astonishment. “Great guns, Jack, listen to this,” he said. “Here’s a piece from Philadelphia about Rex Dale.” And, while Jack listened, he read: “Much anxiety is being felt regarding the whereabouts of Mr. Rex Dale, the son of Mr. William Dale, the well-known business man of this city. Young Mr. Dale left Philadelphia eight days ago for Maine. He was to go to Presque Isle, where he was to be joined by an Indian guide. They were then to start for Musquacook Lake, expecting to reach there in time for the first of the trout fishing. It has been learned that Mr. Dale reached Presque Isle and, together with his guide, started for the lake named above, but since then nothing has been heard from him. Mr. Dale expected to be away only six days, as important business demanded his presence in this city two days ago.” “Now, what do you know about that?” he asked, as he finished. “Do you know where that lake is?” Jack asked. “Sure, I never was there, but I know that Lake Musquacook is not far from Lake Chemquasso-banticook, where we were last January when we went after Nip. If I’m not very much mistaken it is only a few miles northeast of where we had the scrap with him, not more than four or five I should say.” “But what do you suppose could have happened to him?” Jack asked anxiously. “Of course there are plenty of things which might have happened,” Bob replied slowly. “He might have been drowned, or he might have gotten lost, or the Indian might have done away with him for his money.” “But this paper is two days old and of course he may be home safe and sound by this time,” Jack suggested. “That’s so, of course.” Bob looked slightly relieved, for Rex Dale had helped him at a time when he had been desperately in need of help, and the thought that his friend might be in serious danger or worse was worrying him not a little.