“That's about the size of it, I guess. But, I say, ain't that smoke down there by the lake?”
“I reckon we've got time enough to go and see. It ain't far down there, and the moon'll show us the way back if we get late.”
Noting their bearings, they began the descent toward the lake and presently came out upon its border, where the walking was easier. Advancing cautiously half a mile or thereabout, they again caught sight of the smoke through the bushes—a feeble column rising from some embers before a small shelter of boughs and bark that hardly deserved the name of hut. A skillet, a light pick and shovel, and one or two other household articles lay near by, but nothing alive appeared.
“No Injun 'bout that,” said Cooper.
“No, Cooper; more likely a prospector.”
Hallooing as they neared the hut, a lean and miserable dog rushed out and greeted them with ferocious growls, whereupon they heard a weak voice speaking to him, and saw a frowsy gray head and a bony hand, clutching a revolver, stretched out of the opening that answered for a door.