The island was heavily covered with timber, and at one time it had been inhabited, for a big log cabin had been constructed on an eminence overlooking the bay. From this cabin, the island had derived its name. The cabin was deserted now, and to the boys’ knowledge no one had lived there for the past five years, either in summer or winter.
The ice-boat swung around the point, the cliffs lowering bleakly overhead, and they sped down into the great cove.
Cabin Island, dark and austere, lay before them, the ice gleaming on every side. The evergreen timber rose above the white snow, and at the southern end of the island the cabin could be plainly seen.
Within a few minutes, the ice-boat was speeding along in the lee of the island, close to the steep walls of rock. The boys eagerly scanned the cliffs in the hope of finding a landing place.
At last Frank gave a murmur of satisfaction and steered the craft toward a break in the cliff. Here there was a small ravine and against the background of snow the boys distinctly saw a path that wound up the sloping side of the ravine toward the cabin above.
“Thought there’d be a landing place here somewhere,” he said.
“Queer,” said Chet, eyeing the path. “Must be some one on that island.”
“There are footprints, sure enough.”
“It snowed three days ago. There must have been some one here since then,” Joe observed.
“Probably some other chaps came out here in an ice-boat,” said Frank carelessly. “If that’s the case, they’ve been kind enough to break trail for us.”