“Maybe we’ll find the Indian here,” suggested Dig. “Whew! I hope he has supper ready. I’m starved right now, if any one should ask you.”
“That’s more than a campfire!” exclaimed Chet suddenly. “Hear the flames crackling?”
“I hope the fellow hasn’t set the woods afire. Indians are so careless,” said Mr. Havens.
“Oh! I’m sure John isn’t that kind of an Indian,” said Chet.
They came in sight of the abandoned mining camp the next moment. The interior of the sheet-iron shack which the Indian youth had occupied was afire.
Smoke and yellow flames poured from the door of the shack. It was evident that the boy’s outfit was being destroyed.
Dig tossed Poke’s reins to Chet to hold and ran over to the burning structure. The sides of the shack were red-hot, and he could not get near to it; but with a long pole he managed to poke something out of the fire.
“Hi!” he yelled, trying to hold this object up by its bail. “Nobody home but the beans—and they’re canned! Heap big Injun live on white man’s grub just the same!”
“Stop, Dig!” commanded Chet. “Suppose John should hear you? And he did us a mighty big favour.”
“Oh, he isn’t around,” declared Dig. “Think he’d let his outfit burn up like this?”