"No," his chum agreed, "but I am thankful to reach it, poor as it is. My feet are getting sore from tramping over these rocks, I can tell you."
At the shore end of the dock the two paused long enough to take a more careful survey of the place.
"I declare it looks as though it was deserted or all the inhabitants dead," Walter said nervously, "See how the roads are all grown up with weeds as though they were never used. There is no sign of anyone about either."
"Just notice those cabins," his chum exclaimed, "They look just like the pictures I have seen of houses the first settlers used to build during the Indian times. They are built of great logs and have loopholes like the forts of those days. What a queer place!"
"Well, there's smoke coming from the chimney of that nearest cabin, and there seems to be someone working out in the field by it," said Walter with a sigh of relief. "I was beginning to think it was an abandoned village."
The two bent their steps towards the cabin indicated. It was set in a square clearing of about twenty acres, that was surrounded by a strip of pine woods which separated it from its nearest neighbor. As they drew nearer, they could see a man at work near the cabin. He was ploughing up the ground with a rude plow hitched to a yoke of oxen.
As the boys stepped out of the road into the clearing, they were greeted by savage barks, and a pack of dogs lolling around the cabin woke into sudden life and came tearing towards them.
The man at the plough let go the handles and sprang into the cabin. The next minute a rifle barrel protruded from one of the loopholes, "Halt right where you-all is," called a voice from behind the rifle.
"Call off your dogs," shouted Charley, as he and Walter, snatching up a couple of sticks, endeavored to keep the growling, snapping curs at bay.
"Who are you-alls an' what do you want?" demanded the holder of the rifle.