“And we’ve found ourselves a cave!” Dan said. He caught himself talking in a half whisper. “Won’t the Cubs be jarred when we tell ’em about this!”
“We haven’t found our missing paddles though,” Brad remarked. “Wouldn’t you think they’d be floating around in this pool?”
“One would think so, unless they were sucked on down the tunnel to Lake James,” Mr. Hatfield remarked.
He trained his most powerful flashlight on the dark stream. No longer a whirlpool, only a slight circular motion could be observed.
Piles of sticks and debris drawn into the cave from the river, had accumulated against the rough chamber walls.
“Say, what’s that over on the ledge?” Brad demanded.
He focused his flashlight. The battery, however, had grown weak, and the light annoyingly blinked out.
Mr. Hatfield centered his ray upon the ledge. The Cubs then made out a pile of balsam boughs neatly piled against the wall.
“Balsam!” Dan exclaimed. “Freshly cut too!”
“Someone must have been using the boughs for a bed,” Brad reasoned. “Recently, too.”