“There is no telling in what condition the Indians have left the cabin,” said Joe. “For all we know it may be burnt to the ground.”
“That is true,” answered his chum. “Although I saw no fire in that direction, did you?”
“To tell the truth, I didn’t look—my shoulder pained me so much.”
The boys were soon on the way, going part of the distance with some other settlers. The heavy rains had left the trail ankle deep with mud, so their progress was somewhat slow. At last, however, they came in sight of the cabin.
“Hurrah! it is still standing!” cried Harry. “That is something to be thankful for.”
“But they tried to burn it down, Harry. See, here is a mass of half-burnt brushwood heaped up against the north side. If it hadn’t been for the storm our cabin would now be in ashes.”
“They have burst in the back door, Joe!” was the next cry. “And see, the living room is about empty.”
Both ran into the cabin and gazed around them in dismay. One glance told the truth. The cabin had been looted from end to end, and all the small articles of value, including all of their cooking utensils, had been taken away.
CHAPTER XXVII
SHOT ON THE ROOF
“The rascals!”