“Oh, ho! It does, eh?” said the man, eyeing them shrewdly and opening the door that his two roughly dressed comrades could see the visitors. “Well, we’re much obliged for a hideaway out of the storm!”
“You said it!” echoed the short, stocky man, bluntly.
“Been skiing, eh?” observed the third of the trio, a dark-skinned, dark-eyed individual. “I wondered how you got up here. Road open yet?”
“Everything’s closed,” Phil reported. “Worst storm in history. Don’t look like things would be really cleared for three or four days yet.”
The men were seen to be exchanging meaningful glances.
“Come in, boys!” invited the man who had opened the door. “Sorry we have to mess your place up.”
“We no can help,” apologized the stubby stranger.
“That’s all right,” assured Bill, warily. “We won’t come in, thanks. We just thought we’d have a look at the shack to see if it was okay before we went back to town.”
“You didn’t happen to bring any food with you, did you?” asked the first man.
“N-no,” Bill started.