“I pass, what’s the joke?” Kramer asked.
“They do look a little like a bear,” Bob hesitated, and a moment later Jim turned to their guide.
“Is it someone who has his feet wound up?” he asked.
“You go to the head, that’s it,” Carl grinned. “Reckon if I hadn’t been so blamed scary I’d a thought of it myself.”
“Whose tracks are they?” Bob demanded.
“And why do they go around in a circle?” inquired Jim.
“Come along and see the rest of the exhibit,” Carl invited.
They followed him to the root cellar, which, as they approached, looked like a long high mound of snow. At the further side, they saw the entrance, a short steep incline, with a heavy, old fashioned cellar door that fitted into a frame which was level with the ground. This opening was thrown back, so the three stepped down, Carl pulled another heavy door, and instantly the odor of a miscellaneous collection of vegetables which had been stored there for years, came to their nostrils. Coming, as they did, from the glaring white of the world outside, everything looked pitch black, but in a moment their eyes were adjusted to the change and they saw a long room with a sloping roof. Two lighted lanterns were suspended from the huge beams overhead. A rough attempt had been made at furnishing. There was an army cot in one corner, some bright blankets draped the walls, and the earth floor was almost concealed under a collection of dressed hides. A couple of home-made chairs and a table completed the items.
“Some palatial house. Where did you get this stuff?” Bob asked.
“Mostly from the bunkhouse,” Carl answered.