“A matter of ten miles, an’ ye can’t miss the way.”
The boys followed the old man into the cabin, and Bob, who was in advance of George, looked about to find the passenger who had been rescued by their host. He was lying on the floor, in the darkest corner of the room, wrapped up in a tattered blanket, and his clothes were drying in front of the fire. A couple of stakes had been driven into the dirt-floor, and the garments were hung upon them. As Bob looked at the man, he was sure that he saw him turn his face to the wall and draw the blanket over his head. He merely noticed the act, but thought nothing of it.
The building in which the boys now found themselves was a log cabin, built in the most primitive style. There was a roaring fire on the hearth, which threw out so bright a light that everything in the interior could be plainly seen. The cabin looked as poverty-stricken as the owner, and he looked worse than Godfrey Evans. It was destitute of every comfort; the only things in the shape of furniture that the boys could see being a rifle, resting on a couple of pegs over the door, an axe leaning in one corner, and a battered coffee-pot, frying-pan, and a few tin dishes, which were piled promiscuously in one another. The sight of the coffee-pot suggested something to Bob. “George,” said he, “don’t you think a cup of hot coffee would be very refreshing?”
“’Taint to be had in this yere ranche, stranger,” said the old man, quickly. “Ye see I aint had no luck yet. It’s just a trifle too ’arly in the season.”
“Luck!” repeated George.
“Yes. I kalkerlate to have a right smart chance o’ trappin’ here on the sunk lands jest as soon as cold weather sets in in ’arnest.”
As the old man said this he went out to bring in another stick of wood for the fire, and George turned and looked at Bob without speaking. “O, I know what you are thinking about,” said the latter. “You want to know how I would like to live like this.”
“That’s just it,” replied George. “How would you? This man is a fair specimen of a professional trapper. You can see that he is ragged and dirty, and that he has nothing to wear on his head or his feet. He talks about cold weather setting in in earnest! What will he do then? If he doesn’t starve he’ll freeze. I’ll warrant he’s hungry now,” added George; and to prove it he said to the man when he came in, “If you can’t give us a cup of coffee can you dish us up something to eat? Anything, no matter what it is.”
“Sorry I can’t do it, stranger,” was the reply. “I eat the last of my bacon a week ago.”
“What in the world does he live on, then?” asked Bob, when the old man had gone out after another stick of wood.