“Because,” was the rather short answer of Tom. Then, feeling perhaps that he might explain a little more at length, he turned from where he stood in the tumbled-down doorway, and added:
“Let’s get in out of the storm. This is a good place to rest, away from that cutting wind. Quiet, Towser,” he added, for the dog showed signs of not wanting to go in. He growled and hung back. Then he looked in the direction in which they had come, and his hair rose on the back of his neck as though he saw something the boys did not see, and resented the sight—whatever it was.
“I don’t like that,” commented Bert. “Dogs know more than we do—sometimes.”
“Oh, come on in!” repeated Tom, and he spoke to the dog again. This time Towser followed his temporary master inside the hut.
“But what gets me is why are we going in?” objected George. “It will only delay us, and if we’ve got to make seven miles to Ramsen to-night, we’d better be getting at it.”
“That’s just it,” spoke Tom quickly. “I think we can’t get at it.”
“What do you mean?” came from Jack.
“I mean that we can’t go on in this storm. It’s getting worse every minute, and we may stray off the road. We have found this shelter providentially, and we ought to take advantage of it. It will give us a half-decent place to stay, and we won’t be buried in the snow which may happen if we keep on.
“Come inside and stay here, that’s what I mean,” Tom went on. “It might be a heap-sight worse,” and he flashed his torch about the bare and crumbling ruin of the cabin.
“What!” cried Bert. “Do you mean to stay here all night?”