“Then I reckon you’re right,” agreed Sage, “though I don’t quite see why anyone should stop in the old camp this time of year, unless he came here to shoot ducks. We’d have been in a scrape if we’d found someone here ahead of us to-night.”
They bore the last of the wood inside and threw it down on a heaping pile beside the now merrily blazing fire, which illumined the entire interior of the camp. Hooker had thoughtfully brought a can of water from a nearby spring, and, thus prepared, they were ready to settle down to the supper of sandwiches and doughnuts put up for them by their mothers.
Roy closed and fastened the door with the inside hasp.
“You can see,” he said, with a gesture toward the old bunk at one side of the room, “those boughs on top are fresh cut.”
“That’s right,” nodded Sage, after examining them. “Hacked off with a jackknife, I should say, and not two days old. Well, somebody was kind enough to help make us comfortable, for, with our blankets and a fire going, we ought to find that bunk all right to-night. I’m really much obliged to the unknown person or persons. I presume there may have been more than one.”
“Here’s that part of a newspaper,” said Roy, taking it from the small rough table that had been nailed against the wall opposite the bunk. “The date on it is enough to show that someone has been here lately.”
Fred took the paper and glanced at it carelessly. In a moment, however, a queer expression flashed across his face, his eyes opened wide, his lips puckered, and he gave a long, low whistle.
“What is it?” questioned the boy.
“By Jove!” muttered Sage wonderingly. And then, after a moment of silence, he repeated with greater emphasis: “By Jove!”
“What is it?” exclaimed Hooker.