“This way! Come this way!” was the reply, and soon Dave passed through a patch of timber and around some rocks and reached a spot where there was a tiny cove, with a stretch of fine sand. Facing the cove was a neat log cabin with a small lean-to, the latter containing a tiny stove.
A tall, good-natured man stood in the lean-to, peering out into the rain. He watched Dave’s approach with interest. He looked to be what he was, a camp-cook and general worker.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, as Dave hurried in out of the rain and shook the water from his cap. “I thought you were one of our crowd.”
“What camp is this?” questioned our hero, eagerly.
“Well, it ain’t no camp in particular,” answered the man, with a grin. “It’s jest a camp.”
“But who is stopping here?”
“Three young fellers and myself.”
“Are their names Beggs, Lawrence, and Basswood?” 227
“You’ve struck it. Maybe you are a friend to ’em?” went on the man, inquiringly.
“I am, and I have come a long distance to find them,” returned Dave, and his tone of voice showed his relief. “Where are they?”