The Last Rebel

by Joseph A. Altsheler

"It's built in a little patch of woods on a level spot of about a quarter of an acre," he said, "and my eye says the smoke rises straight from that spot."

By and by, as we climbed the slope, we could see the hut itself, coated with ice like the trees. The smoke was coming from the little mud chimney, and we guessed that a fine fire was blazing on the hearth. I, for one, began to wish that I was sitting in front of that same fire, listening to the popping of the dry wood as the flames ate into it. But Grace outstripped us, in so far as her cause for anxiety was greater than ours. She ran forward, pushed open the door of the hut, and sprang inside. We heard a cry of disappointment, and, following her, found the hut was empty, save for ourselves.

Upon the stone hearth the fine fire that I had pictured to myself was really blazing. Upon a bench lay some scraps of bread and meat, but the host, whoever he might be, was absent.

It was a little place, not more than seven or eight feet square, with a roof that the head of a tall man could touch. Two or three deerskins were on the floor, some antlers were fastened on the wall, and besides the bench there were three rude little stools. It was not exactly a drawing-room, but it was a warm and hospitable spot in the wilderness. At least it seemed so to me. Grace sat down on one of the stools and leaned her head against the wall, too brave to cry, but not strong enough to conceal all her disappointment. She had been sure that we would find the colonel in the hut.

"Since the landlord of the hotel is away and there is no one to welcome us, I propose that we welcome ourselves," I said, wishing to appear cheerful.

Crothers silently seconded the motion by throwing fresh wood on the fire, drawing up a stool, and warming his hands. Then we held a brief council of war. It was obvious that some one had been at the hut, but whether the colonel or the doctor there was nothing to indicate. Whichever it might be, it was most likely that he would soon return, and we concluded that it was our best plan to pass the night there. It was late in the day, and no one could think of any other course that promised better. Crothers and I scouted a bit in the neighborhood, but we discovered nothing of the lodge's missing tenant. Whoever he was, he seemed to have gone on a long journey from his table and fireside, and we had little to do but appropriate his table, sit at his fireside, and wait for his return.

The end of the day was near, and the night promised to be very cold. Autumn might be lingering yet in the low-lands, but up here in the mountains, close to the skies, winter was sovereign. The sun went over the hills, the whiteness of the earth turned to pallor, and in the dusk the icy mountains gleamed cheerless and cold. I was very glad that necessity bade us stay at the hut.

We bestirred ourselves and gathered wood, for we intended to keep a good fire all night. We assigned Grace to one corner beside the fireplace, and made a screen for it by hanging up two or three deerskins. Then we heaped the wood on the fire until the blaze roared up the chimney. A little window, a mere cut in the logs, a half-foot square, was left open. When I went out I could see the light of the fire shining through it, and casting long streaks of red across the ice, the one friendly beacon in the dreary wilderness.

As the day waned and the night took its place, I began to fear that it was neither the colonel nor the doctor who had built the fire, or surely he would have returned before this. After all, it might have been some stray hunter or mountaineer who had lighted the comfortable blaze, warmed himself, and passed on, leaving it to serve the same purpose for any other who might come.