The others were willing, and a halt was made in the shelter of some hemlock trees and elderberry bushes. Not far away was a hickory tree, and the wind-swept ground was full of nuts which even the squirrels had failed to carry off. The stop lasted for fully an hour, and then, thoroughly rested, they pushed on. Only a few birds were sighted, however, and these were so far away that to bring any of them down proved impossible. “There is Needle Rock,” said Joel Runnell, at last, and pointed out to where a rock arose about fifty feet from the lake shore. It was a tall, sharp-pointed affair, and the wind had swept it entirely free from snow. “And where was that boat wrecked, do you think?” questioned Joe, with interest. “Just about over yonder, Joe. Of course, I can’t tell the exact location, but it wasn’t over fifty yards from that point.” The young hunters all moved down to the lake front and tramped up and down, over the rocks and among the snow-laden bushes. Here and there they shoved some of the snow aside, but brought nothing of interest to light. “I guess it’s a wild-goose chase, looking for that pocketbook or those papers,” said Harry at length. “It’s a good deal like looking for a pin in a haystack,” returned Fred. “We’ll stand more chance of finding something after the snow clears away,” put in Joe, with a sigh. “That is, if it is really here.” “And if it is here the melting snow may carry it out into the lake,” said his brother. They took another look around, Joel Runnell prying up some old brushwood and dead tree limbs, and by that time the descending sun warned them that if they wished to return to Snow Lodge before nightfall they had better start without delay. “Yes, let’s get back,” said Harry, who was tired out. “And then we can have a bit of roast rabbit for a change.” “And I’m going to make some biscuits for supper,” put in Joe. “We haven’t had fresh biscuits since we were at the lodge before.” Somewhat downhearted over their failure to locate the missing pocketbook or papers, they turned toward home. All had known it was rather a forlorn hope at the best, yet each had secretly hoped that something would be brought to light. “But I suppose Hiram Skeetles looked high and low for it before he gave the hunt up,” was Joe’s comment. “And his eyes are as sharp as those of a hawk.” The tramp to the lodge seemed a long one to the tired young hunters, and Harry felt inclined to rest half a dozen times. When they at last came in sight of the snow-clad building, it was quite dark. “Now to jump through the window and open the door!” exclaimed Joe, and, throwing down his gun, he rushed forward. Then he uttered an ejaculation of astonishment: “The window is wide open. Did we leave it that way?” “Certainly not,” answered Joel Runnell. “Somebody has been here, after all,” put in Harry. “Must have been old Skeetles and Marcy. What will we do if they have cleaned us out?”