There was a new crispness in the air, and the leaves on the trees were losing their greenness and taking on every possible shade, from pale yellow to old gold, and from that to dusky red. Both Stane and Helen Yardely noticed the signs. Autumn was upon them and they were still in their camp by the lake, though now Stane was able to hobble about with a pair of crutches made from a couple of forked sticks, padded with moss at the forks for his arms, and covered with caribou skin. Helen herself was busy from dawn to sunset. From words that he had dropped she knew that they had lost in the race with the seasons, and that winter would be on them before he would be able to take the trail. She faced the dreary prospect light-heartedly, but under his instruction omitted no precautions that would make a winter sojourn in the wild land tolerable. Fish were caught and dried, rabbits and hares snared, not merely for meat, but for their skins, which when a sufficient number had been accumulated were fashioned into parkas and blankets against the Arctic cold which was surely marching on them.
The leaves began to fall, light frosts were succeeded by heavier ones, and one morning they awoke to find a thin film of ice on the surface of the still water of the little bay where their camp was located. Stane viewed the ice with ominous eyes. He was incapable of any heavy physical exertion as yet, and knowing the North in all its inimical aspects, he was afraid for his companion, and though he rejoiced in her frank comradeship, he regretted that she had let Ainley and the Indian depart without knowledge of her presence. Guessing that the lake was some sort of waterway between two points, daily, almost hourly, in the frequent absences of the girl, he scanned it for any sign of human presences, but in vain. The lake's surface was unbroken by the movement of canoe or boat; its shores showed no tell-tale column of smoke. They were indeed alone in the wilderness.
But one afternoon the girl returned from a hunting expedition with excitement shining in her grey eyes.
"I have found something," she announced abruptly.
"What is it?"
"There is a cabin up the lake, about three miles away."
"A cabin?"
"Yes, and a very nice one, logs with a stone chimney and a parchment window. There was no one about, and the door was only held by a hasp and a wooden peg, so I ventured to look in. It has a stove, a rough table, a bunk and a couple of logs plainly meant for chairs."
Stane considered her news for a moment and then gave an obvious explanation. "It is some trapper's hut. He is away, and will probably return for the trapping season."
"Yes," she answered with a nod. "I thought that was the explanation. But there is nothing to prevent us taking possession until the owner returns, if he ever does, is there?"