It was well along toward mid-morning, when they came in sight of Uncle Jeb’s picturesque cabin almost hidden among the giant pine trees. It stood there solitary and imposing, bespeaking character, such as only one like he himself could give it.
It has often been said that a man’s house is but a reproduction of his life, and nothing more true could be said of Uncle Jeb’s wilderness cabin.
The door was bolted from the outside to keep away intruders of the forest, but always open to the weary stranger.
As Uncle Jeb opened the door, the boys could see at once that the place was meticulously clean, notwithstanding its long state of unoccupancy.
There were bear skins covering the floor and walls, and the furniture consisted of a table and some chairs carved out of the productive forest trees. There was a stove in the back where some wood was lying beside it, all cut and ready for use. A few pictures hanging on the walls were distinctive of the good taste of this hardy mountaineer. The most prominent of these pictures was one of the late President Roosevelt, autographed. Uncle Jeb was very proud of this and did not conceal the fact.
There were no beds in this little quaint cabin, just four bunks built along the walls like berths.
After unpacking their belongings and helping Uncle Jeb put the place in order they all set to, getting the noonday meal with zest.
Artie stayed in the cabin peeling the potatoes, while Westy went with Uncle Jeb to fetch some water from the neighboring brook back of his place. He told Westy that this cheery little brook tinkled its silvery way down into Eagle Lake.
“More trout ’n you could ever eat in a lifetime, here in this brook, son,” Uncle Jeb told Westy. “Kin hear it most any hour of the night when everything is quiet. Best company any one would want.
Westy could well believe this, for the gurgling water, plashing down the rock-ribbed mountainside on its journey to Eagle Lake, was heard quite distinctly above the chirping birds and the screeching of little forest folk even at noonday.