They had proceeded in this manner about a mile when they came in sight of a small cabin that was set down in a little hollow amid the trees.
The place looked lonely and deserted, but Frank rode straight toward it, and the others followed.
The boys dismounted before the cabin, and Merriwell rapped loudly on the door. He was forced to knock three times before he obtained a response.
The door opened slowly, and a bent and feeble-looking man with dirty white hair looked at them.
“Who are you?” he asked, in a cracked voice, suspicion showing plainly in his eyes, which were bright and clear for all of his age.
“Travelers,” replied Frank, cheerfully. “We were passing, and, as night is at hand, we decided to ask shelter here.”
“It is useless to ask,” the man declared, with a shake of his head. “I can’t keep you. It is very strange that you should be passing this place. The road does not come within a mile of here.”
“That is true, but we found a path, and became convinced that it must lead to a house, so here we are.”
“You have had your trouble for nothing; I shall not keep you.”
“Hospitable old man!” murmured Browning, sarcastically.