CHAPTER XXIII.
THE HUT IN THE MOUNTAINS.
The next morning they were off once more. As may be imagined each one of the party was anxious to reach the canyon in which Cal's mine was located. There they would be in touch with civilization and in a position to retaliate upon the band of Col. Morello if they dared to attack them.
On the evening of the second day they found themselves not far from the place, according to Cal's calculations. But they were in a rugged country through which it would be impossible to proceed by night, so it was determined to make camp as soon as a suitable spot could be found.
As it so happened, one was not far distant. A gentle slope comparatively free from rocks and stones, and affording a good view in either direction, was in the immediate vicinity. The auto, therefore, was run up there and brought to a halt, and the Motor Rangers at once set about looking for a spring. They had plenty of water in the tank, but preferred, if they could get it, to drink the fresh product. Water that has been carried a day or two in a tank is not nearly as nice as the fresh, sparkling article right out of the ground.
"Look," cried Joe, as they scattered in search of a suitable spot, "there's a little hut up there."
"M-m-m-maybe a h-h-h-hermit l-l-lives there," suggested Ding-dong in rather a quavering voice.
"Nonsense," put in Nat, "that hut has been deserted for many years. See the ridge pole is broken, and the roof is all sagging in. Let's go and explore it."
With a whoop they set out across the slope for the ruined hut, which stood back in a small clearing cut out of the forest. Blackened stumps stood about it but it was long since the ground had been cultivated. A few mouldering corn stalks, however, remained to show that the place had once been inhabited.