How long they toiled on, or how many miles they covered, Lon had no notion. The feeble light of afternoon faded into the gloom of night. Yet Groche seemed to be sure of his course. Lon even fancied that there was a slight increase in the pace. And then, of a sudden, he saw the flicker of the fire through a window of the old house.
“Then you’ve no more idea than we where we are?” said Sam.
“No more idea than——” Lon began, but broke off abruptly, as his glance, ranging the room, fell upon something which caught his attention. He stepped close to one of the walls, peered at it sharply, and gave an odd laugh.
“Wal, I’ll be jiggered! Who’d ’a’ thought it? Lookee here, boys! Stone work part way up, then wood! Say, but it beats cat fightin’!”
“What do you mean?”
Lon turned to the group by the fire. He was grinning in spite of his weariness.
“I mean this is the house old Calleck built up in the woods, the house where old Wallowby fit the bear. So that’s proof of the story—see?”
“Proof!” cried the Shark skeptically.
“Why not? Said there was such a house, didn’t I? Sure I did, and now I go and produce it. Rest follows as a matter of course.”
“Rats!” snapped the Shark in disgust.