Hugh had
discovered the presence of a light in the cabin about the same
time that Bud mentioned the fact. It could be seen shining through
the aperture that had once been used as a window. There was no
glass in this now, and a heavy shutter, hung on rusty hinges, gave
the only means of keeping out the cold air, though this had not
been closed by the unknown party within.
"Whoever can it be?" muttered the disgusted Bud, doubtless begrudging
that long tramp from the road where the friendly farmer had dropped
them.
"Perhaps some one who's thinking of using the old shanty as
headquarters while trapping this season," Hugh replied. "You know
Ralph Kenyon used to take quite a lot of pelts around this region
before he joined the scouts and changed his mind about that sort of
thing."
"Then you don't think it could be a hobo?" queried Bud with a
relieved vein in his voice.
"Well, tramps nearly always stick close to the railroads, you know,"
the other observed with the air of one who had made it a point to
take note of such happenings; "and besides, what hobo would think
of wandering away up here so far from a base of supplies? But we
can settle all that easy enough, Bud."
"By going on and breaking in on him, you mean?" questioned the other
eagerly.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25