“All right,” Tom agreed. “Here, Towser,” he went on to the dog, “come in here and behave yourself.”
But the animal did not seem so disposed. He remained in the doorway, looking out into the storm, now and then growling hoarsely in his throat, but showing no disposition to dash out. Certainly he was acting very strangely, but whether it was fear or anger the boys could not decide.
“Well, whoever it is, or whatever, we’ve got plenty of guns and ammunition,” remarked George. “We haven’t had a decent shot to-day.”
Which was very true. They had had great hopes, but that was all.
“Come on if we’re going to yell,” suggested Jack. “And if we don’t raise someone, we’ll prepare to stay here. It’s the best we can do, fellows.”
They united their voices in a shout, and the dog added to the din by barking. He seemed to feel better when the lads were making as much noise as they could.
But the echoes of the boys’ voices, blown back to them by the snow-laden wind, was all the answer they received. They waited, and called again, but no one replied to them. Nor, as at least George half-expected, did they hear the growls of a bear. The wind howled, the snow rattled on the sides and roof of the cabin, for the flakes were almost as hard as sleet. But that was all.
“Guess we’ll have to put up at this ‘hotel,’” said Bert, after a pause. The dog had quieted down now, as though whatever had aroused him had passed on.
“Let’s take a look around and see what we’ve drawn,” suggested Jack. “If there’s any wood, we can make a fire, and there must be some of that grub left.”