“What do you make of it?” asked Rogers, as they hurried forward to join Ned, who was looking in at the partly open door of the hut.
“It’s nothing but a shanty the wood-cutters used when they cut the timber off this tract about ten years ago,” declared Wilbur, who had driven up and halted at the door.
“I guess you’re right, Dave,” replied Ned, “but let’s see what’s inside,” and pushing the door wide open, he stepped in, closely followed by the others.
The cabin was oblong in shape, being about fifteen feet long by eight or nine feet wide. At one end were two bunks built against the wall. In the middle of the room stood a rough table of slabs and in a corner was a rusty stove propped up with bricks in lieu of missing legs. Dick lifted a rust-eaten lid and peered into the fire-box.
“Ashes,” he remarked. “Cold ashes.”
“Which proves simply that there’s been no fire here for the last few hours,” asserted Rogers. “That bunk looks as if it may have been slept in recently but I’ll admit it’s only guess work.”
Ned had been glancing about the shanty, his keen eyes taking in every detail. All at once he bent low and peered closely at something on the floor beside the table.
“What have you found, Ned?” asked Tommy Beals, and at his words the other boys crowded around.
“Keep back!” warned Ned. “Don’t disturb them.”
“Don’t disturb what?” demanded Rogers. “I can’t see anything—unless you mean those black ants!”