Tom ate his meal slowly, for he did not know what to do after it was finished. He wished he knew how far the nearest settlement was and in what direction. After he had eaten his fill, he tied the balance of the steaks in a corner of his blanket, for the food must be kept for future use. Then he walked up to the top of the hill for another look around. Suddenly he caught sight of a man riding swiftly toward him--a heavy-set man, with busky whiskers and a face that was almost black from constant exposure to the elements. "Hullo, youngster!" cried the man, when he was within hailing distance. "All alone here?" "I am!" cried Tom, and he felt something of joy to see a human being again. "What brought you away out here? Hunting?" "Not exactly, although I did bring down yonder animal," with a jerk of the thumb toward the deer. "I've lost my way." "Did you, really? That's bad. It's lucky I ran across you. What's your handle?" "Tom Rover," answered the youth boldly. "What is yours?" "Noxton. So you are all alone?" "Yes." Tom was trying to think where he had heard that name, but could not remember. "Are you alone?" "Well, hardly." Bill Noxton hesitated for a moment. "I was alone, but day before yesterday I fell in with a couple of Englishmen who are out here to see the sights, and they hired me to show 'em around. Our camp is just below here. Will you come down an' be introduced to the beef-eaters?" "I suppose I might as well," answered Tom, never suspecting any trick. "I certainly don't want to remain alone any longer." "Then come on. I told the beef-eaters I would be back inside of half an hour." The man waited for Tom to mount, and then led the way down the hillside and into the valley. There was a patch of forest to pass, and they came out in a clearing on another hill, overlooking a mountain stream which flowed a hundred feet below. "Here we are," cried Bill Noxton, as he suddenly wheeled behind Tom. "Shall I introduce you, Mr. Rover?" Tom looked ahead, and his heart dropped. There around a camp-fire sat Arnold Baxter and his son Dan, and a man who was a stranger to him. Clearly he was trapped, and in the hands of the enemy. CHAPTER XXIV THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING BOY "Tom isn't here!" It was Dick who uttered the words, as of a sudden he wheeled around on the dark trail and tried to penetrate the blackness of night behind them. "Isn't here?" demanded Jack Wumble, while Sam set up a cry of dismay. "No. Tom! Tom!" Sam joined in the cry, and so did the old miner, but as we already know, it was useless. "This is the wust yet!" growled Jack Wumble. "I told ye all to keep close to me." "Perhaps he fell asleep-- I know he was dead tired," answered Dick, hitting the plain truth. "We'll have to go back for him," said Sam, and turned without delay, for going ahead without Tom was all out of the question.