In amazement, the Hardy boys and their chums stared at the cottage that had so strangely appeared in the snow.
"How did that get here?" shouted Chet Morton.
Frank waved his hand toward the top of the cliff.
"There was a little cottage up there," he told them. "It must have been blown off by the wind."
This, indeed, had been the case. Sheltered by the cliff, the boys had no adequate realization of the immense force of the hurricane. The little cottage at the top of the cliff had received the full brunt of the wind and had finally succumbed to the gale and to the force of a sudden avalanche of snow from farther up on the hillside. It had no foundation, and it had been swept away bodily.
The boys fought their way through the deep snow and inspected the little house. It had come through the terrific ordeal with surprisingly small damage. One side had crumpled under the force of the impact and the building was canted over at a precarious angle. But the roof and the other three sides were unbroken, thanks to the soft snow which had lessened the shock of the fall.
"There must be some one inside," Joe said. "Some one was shouting for help."
Frank found the door of the cottage and tried to open it, but it was jammed, as the house was not standing upright. Then he discovered a window, the glass of which was shattered, and with assistance from the others he made his way inside.
The interior of the place was wrecked. In the dim light Frank could see the broken boards and shattered timbers, the broken glass, the upturned stove, the smashed furniture—but there was no sign of any human being.
"Doesn't seem to be any one here," he called out to the others.