“And we left the branch at the hole,” said Harry. “Hiram Skeetles will make us pay for the damage done, I suppose.”
“The lodge wasn’t worth much,” put in Fred. “Not over twenty or thirty dollars at the most. The back end was almost ready to fall down.”
“Well, if the courts decide that this island and the lodge belong to Skeetles we’ll pay for the building,” said Joe. “But you can be sure I won’t pay him any fancy price.”
In less than half an hour from the start of the conflagration the roof of the lodge fell with a crash, sending the sparks flying in all directions. Then one side after another followed, and soon all that remained of the building was a heap of smoldering timbers and the red-hot stones of the rude chimney.
“That’s the end of Snow Lodge,” said Joe. “We didn’t have very much good of the place, after all.”
“The question is, where are we to go next?” put in Fred. “The other shelter was wrecked by the wind. We seem to be unfortunate, no matter where we stay.”
“Let us have something to eat first,” said Harry. “I’m as hungry as a—a bear.”
“Then you can dine on bear,” answered Fred, and this caused a laugh in spite of their downheartedness over the loss of the lodge.
Supper was cooked over the smoldering ruins and on the hot rocks, and each ate heartily. They talked matters over and decided to remain in that vicinity until morning.
“Then we can rake the ruins and see if we can find anything of value,” said old Runnell.