“But I suppose Hiram Skeetles looked high and low for it before he gave the hunt up,” was Joe’s comment. “And his eyes are as sharp as those of a hawk.”
The tramp to the lodge seemed a long one to the tired young hunters, and Harry felt inclined to rest half a dozen times. When they at last came in sight of the snow-clad building, it was quite dark.
“Now to jump through the window and open the door!” exclaimed Joe, and, throwing down his gun, he rushed forward. Then he uttered an ejaculation of astonishment: “The window is wide open. Did we leave it that way?”
“Certainly not,” answered Joel Runnell.
“Somebody has been here, after all,” put in Harry.
“Must have been old Skeetles and Marcy. What will we do if they have cleaned us out?”
“I’ll soon find out,” continued Joe, and leaped through the window into the living-room of the cabin.
The fire had died down until there was little or nothing left of it. Stumbling across the floor, he kicked it into a blaze and threw on a few extra sticks of wood. After this he reached for the lantern and lit it.
“Well, what have you found?” asked Harry, looking in at the window.
“Nothing, so far,” answered his brother. “Everything seems to be all right, although the bench is overturned and—yes—somebody has carried off that piece of venison I hung up near the window!”