The discovery left the two chums temporarily spellbound.
“It’s the automobile party without a doubt!” Bill gasped, finally. “They’ve found our shack and they’ve been snowed in. Lucky thing for them they could get under cover!”
“They must have about burned up our wood supply by now,” ruminated Max.
“And I’ll be surprised if they’re not close to starving,” added Phil. “Let’s go around and down to the ledge. Careful your skis don’t get away with you ... this is dangerous business along here.”
Edging down with great caution, the three chums skied onto the ledge and breathlessly approached the door of their shack which had been freed of snow as well as one window.
“Maybe they won’t be glad to be reached by someone!” whispered Max. “Shall I rap, Bill?”
“Sure,” grinned Bill, “it’s our shack but it’s occupied, so we’re just visitors.”
Max lifted his hand and tapped lightly on the door with the backs of his knuckles. There was an immediate stir inside and muffled voices. The chums glanced at each other questioningly as the door opened a crack and the gaunt figure of a man was disclosed who covered them with a revolver. When the stranger saw who it was, he gave vent to a hollow laugh and lowered the weapon.
“It’s just three kids,” he said to evident companions behind him. “Hello, boys—how the devil did you find this place?”
“It happens to be our shack,” replied Bill, nudging Phil and Max, warningly.