“That sure is a funny feeling,” commented George. “Who would it be? There aren’t any persons up around here except Sam Wilson, or maybe some of those Indian guides he knows.”
“It might be one of the Indians,” suggested Bert. “They might be sneaking around, to see what they could pick up.”
“A wild animal wouldn’t make a fellow feel as I felt,” decided Jack. “But maybe I’m only fussy, and——”
“You are—worse than a girl,” said Tom, with a laugh that took the sharpness out of the words. “I guess it’s only the storm, and the effect of being in a strange place. Now let’s settle down and take it easy. There’s no one outside.”
Once more they disposed themselves before the cheerful blaze, the dog stretching out at full length to dry his shaggy coat that was wet with melting snow.
“I wonder what sort of a place this was?” spoke Jack, at length.
“Must have been a hunter’s cabin,” suggested Tom.
“It’s too big for that. This looks as though people had lived in it once,” declared Bert. “Besides, it’s too near the road for a hunter to want to use it. I guess the family died off, or moved away, and there isn’t enough population up here to make it so crowded that they have to use this shack.”
“Well, it comes in handy for us,” remarked George. “I could go another sandwich, but——”
“All the going you’ll do will be to go without,” laughed Bert, grimly. “There isn’t a crumb left, but I could manage to squeeze out some more coffee.”