"There isn't a prettier place around," asserted Jim Havens. "And talk about game—it's chuck full—bears and deer. But Hank can tell you all about that."
"Beats any place I ever saw," said Bob, enthusiastically. "Now, fellows, we'll have to desert this good old craft."
"Right you are," was Havens' rejoinder. "Hank's shack is over on the north shore."
The raft was soon poled through the lily-pads and rushes bordering the lake, and the boys jumped ashore.
"Feel kind of stiff, for a fact," said Dick.
"Haven't very far to go," put in Havens, cheerfully.
With a last look at the rude pile of logs which had served them so well, the boys shouldered their outfits and started off.
Hank Merwin's cabin was in a clearing behind a spur of a mountain and not far from the lake.
They found him sitting before the entrance, calmly smoking his pipe. He looked up as the boys trooped forward, but no change of expression came over his impassive face.
"How d'ye do, young uns?" he drawled, without rising. "I've been kinder lookin' fur ye."