In a few moments, they saw a log structure built against a wall of rock.
"Never was so glad to see anything in my life," declared Bob Somers. "It doesn't look big enough for the whole bunch, though, Jim."
Havens smiled. "Don't you know that a dugout is a log cabin or some kind of a shack built in front of a cave?" he asked.
"Good! This is a dandy place, eh, Dave?" cried Bob, enthusiastically. "Imagine sitting out here, after a good day's sport, with a venison steak broiling over the fire!"
"I'll get indigestion, if you talk that way, Bob Somers," said Dave, severely, as he threw his burden down on the turf.
"Don't go rushing in, fellows," warned Jim. "Sometimes a varmint takes it into his ugly head to use it for a stopping place."
But impatient Dick Travers was already at the door, uttering a series of wild whoops.
"All right!" he sang out, as his form disappeared from view.
The dugout, though solidly built, showed the ravages of time. The door was missing and a tree, dislodged by some gale, had fallen across the roof, leaving a gaping hole.
But, in spite of these defects, the boys were delighted.