"Probably the mysterious chaps who are doing all the yelling and shooting," said Biff. "We'll be out of luck if this is their cave we've stumbled on."
"It's ours now. I don't see any 'No Trespassing' signs." Frank began carrying wood over to the center of the cave. Then he set down the flashlight, took out his pocketknife, and whittled at a particularly dry stick until he had a small heap of shavings. Carefully stacking a few of the smaller sticks over the shavings and the larger sticks above, crosswise so that there were plenty of air spaces, he took a match from his waterproof case and ignited it, putting it to the shavings. They flared up brightly.
Anxiously, the boys watched the little blaze. The flames caught the small sticks, which snapped and crackled. Then, as the fire rose higher, the heavier wood was ignited, and in a short time the boys had a roaring fire. Never had a campfire been so welcome. Frank had been afraid that lack of a draught in the cave might cause so much smoke that they would be almost smothered, but evidently there was some opening in the roof, some overhead passage that acted in the nature of a chimney, for the smoke was carried off above.
As the warmth of the fire penetrated the cave, the boys took off their drenched clothes and spread them about the blaze, in the meantime wrapping themselves in the heavy blankets they had brought with them. Chet produced the frying pan, and the fragrant odor of sizzling bacon soon permeated their refuge. He improvised a tripod from which was suspended a tin pail, duly filled with rain water that coursed in a gushing stream just beside the mouth of the cave, and in a short time the coffee was boiling.
The boys never enjoyed a meal more than they enjoyed their supper in the cave. The driftwood blazed and crackled, casting a cheerful glow, illuminating the rocky ceiling and walls of the underground chamber. With crisp bacon, bread toasted brown before the fire, hot coffee and jam, they ate ravenously, and at last sat back with deep sighs of sheer content.
"This old cave isn't so bad after all," said Chet, wrapping his blanket around him like a cocoon and wriggling his toes toward the flames.
The others glanced toward the entrance of the cavern.
It was pitch dark outside, and still raining. They could hear the constant beat of the down-pour, the incessant roar of the surf, the splash of the waves, the moaning of the cold wind out in the blackness of the night, and the cave seemed the most comfortable place in the world.
"We owe a vote of thanks to the chap who stacked this driftwood in here," said Biff.
"I'll tell the world!" declared Joe. "We'd have been shivering and hungry yet if it hadn't been for him."