“There is,” announced Bert, who had constituted himself a sort of commissary department. “We’ve got some sandwiches, and I can make coffee.”
“That isn’t so bad,” remarked Tom. “Once we have a little feed, we’ll all feel better. And in the morning the storm may have stopped, so we can easily find our road. We’re on the right one, I’m sure, for that signboard said seven miles to Ramsen, and that’s in the direction of Camp No. 3.”
If Tom had only known about that changed signboard!
Each of the lads carried a powerful electric light, with a tungsten bulb. It was operated by a small, dry battery. It was intended only for a flashing light, of a second or so each time, but there was a switch arrangement so that the light could be held steady and permanent, though of course this used up the battery quickly.
“I’ll let my light burn,” proposed Tom. “It’s nearly burned out anyhow, and you fellows can save yours until later.”
“If we could have a fire, we wouldn’t need a light,” Bert said.
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “Let’s look about a bit.”
There was a hearth in the main room of the deserted cabin, and on it were the ashes of a fire, long since dead and cold. But it seemed to show that the chimney would draw. Scattered about the room were pieces of old boxes and barrel staves, and a pile of these was soon set ablaze on the hearth.
“That looks better!” remarked Bert, with satisfaction, as he rubbed his hands in front of the blaze. “Now if we had a way of stopping up some of these broken windows, we wouldn’t be so cold.”