At Bronson’s Cabin
Kent stirred and sat up in his sleeping bag. In the dimness of the tent
he saw that Barry was not there. He heard the twins move and say
something in the next tent. Then Kent seemed to remember that someone
had spoken.
“Where are you, Barry?”
“Out here,” came the answer. “Somebody has been in the camp.”
Kent and the twins joined him as soon as possible. Barry was heaping
more wood on the fire.
“You say somebody was in the camp?” Kent asked.
Barry pointed to the spot where the man had stood. “A man was standing
there when I just came out to put more wood on the fire. I couldn’t make
his face out very well, but he was a short, stocky fellow, and I just
took it that he was the Frenchman you boys saw.”
“I’ll bet it was,” Tim answered. “Any of our things missing?”
Barry shook his head. “I believe not—at least I can’t see that anything
is. It looked to me as if he had just arrived. What time is it, anyway?”
Mac tugged his watch out of his pocket and looked at the dial by the
light of the fire. “Ten minutes past three a. m.,” he announced.
“I suppose they have broken camp and are on their way,” said Tim. “They
may have just stopped by to take a look at us. You didn’t see the
woman?”
“No, and I can’t even be sure that the man was that Frenchman. Did he
have on brown corduroy pants and a checked Mackinaw?”
“Yes,” the twins nodded.
“Then that’s who it was. I could see that much by the feeble light of
the fire, though I couldn’t see his face. Think we ought to go back to
bed?”
“I’m too sleepy to sit up for any Frenchman,” Kent yawned.
“I don’t believe that he’ll come back,” Mac said. “I’m freezing around
here, so I’m on my way back to the bed. Call me for breakfast!”
“Call you nothing!” cried Kent. “Barry and I cooked supper, so you
fellows are billed to provide the breakfast.”
The others went back to their sleeping bags, and Barry built the fire up
before seeking his. When he did crawl back into the soft, warm interior
of the bag he did not go to sleep at once. For a long time he lay
listening, but no sound broke the stillness, and at last he dozed off
and slept soundly. He was awakened by Kent stirring around and crawling
over him.
“Let’s go see what these twins have for us,” his companion invited, and
Barry followed as quickly as he could get dressed. The Ford brothers
were already on the job, and bacon was curling in the pan. The day was
gray and overcast, and it looked as though it might snow.
“I guess our French friend didn’t come back,” Mac said, forking out
bacon on the tin plates. “Everything is about ready to eat. Come and get
it.”
Breakfast was soon dispatched, and then they put the camp in order.
Before long they were on the river again, skating along rapidly, in
order to warm up. They had gone scarcely a mile when bodies were warm
and blood tingling.
“I hope it doesn’t snow until we get to the cabin,” Kent said.
“So do I,” Barry agreed. “A big fall would work against us.”
They had planned to eat one more outdoor meal, but they arrived close to
Fox Point around the noon hour, so they had dinner in the country store
there, eating sandwiches and drinking hot cocoa at a little table close
to the round iron stove that threw out a splendid heat. They bought the
coffee that they lacked and then started once more. At last they skated
out on the broad expanse of ice that marked Lake Arrowtip.
“Here we are at last,” Mac whooped. “Let’s have a race down the lake to
the cabin.”
“You can’t do it,” Barry objected. “See how that snow is spread out? You
go a little way and then you have to walk across a snow bar and strike
the ice on the other side. You just can’t keep going.”
“That’s all the better,” spoke up Kent. “It will be an obstacle race.
Skate on the ice, run across the snow, and skate some more. Let’s line
up and go!”
“I’m pulling the sled,” Barry reminded them. “But you fellows go to it
and I’ll follow on. Are you ready? Get set. Go!”
The three racers were off like a shot, striking out across the clear ice
of Lake Arrowtip. Coming to the soft snow that spread across their path,
they leaped into it and ran through as fast as their skates would allow
them to. Again they were out on clear ice, and for a time they skated
furiously, with Mac slightly in the lead. Then another and longer island
of snow slowed them down, and Tim tipped over, tumbling in the path of
Kent, who had to swerve to avoid going down. By the time that Kent got
on the ice again, Mac was far ahead and turned around in a swift circle
and gave the race up, waiting for the others to catch up with him.
Barry skated on in a more leisurely manner, drawing the sled after him
and taking in the beauty of Lake Arrowtip. He had visited the place in
the spring and summer, but had never seen it in the grip of the New
England winter. It presented now the picture of a broad flooring of ice,
with the dark lines of pine and hemlock ringing it around. From the lake
the hills ran up sharply, flowing into the mountains, blanketed with a
thick white carpet of snow. Out in the middle of the lake stood Rake
Island, a rugged little thumb of land covered with brush and timber and
rough rocks.
Behind them the lake was broad, but before them it narrowed. Barry could
now see the Bronson cabin and beyond it the roof of the lodge. His heart
beat faster, and unconsciously he skated on with increased speed. They
were close to the scene of the mysterious events that had interested him
so much.
He joined the others, and they were soon at the bank before the Bronson
cabin. Taking off their skates, they walked up the slope to this plain
little log house, but their eyes were on the big hunting lodge. It stood
on a bluff and could be approached only in a roundabout way from the
lake, up the sides of the slopes and not from the front.
“There it is, the house of mystery,” cried Tim, as they took in the
length of the low log lodge building.
“It looks cold and deserted,” Mac offered. “Doesn’t look as though it
has any spooks around it at this time of year. Bet you a doughnut we
don’t learn a thing.”
“That’s a mighty poor spirit to start our hunt with,” Barry objected, as
he felt in his pocket for the key to the Bronson cabin.
Up to the moment they had paid no attention to the cabin in which they
were going to live, but now, as Barry unlocked the door, they scanned it
with interest. It was nearly square and was made of rough hewed logs. It
appeared to be very old, and there was only one small window to the left
of the door. A rock chimney pushed its way through the roof.
“We’ll like this place when we get used to it,” Kent predicted.
Barry pushed the door open, and they entered. There was a large general
room, and a small lean-to which served as a kitchen. A single bed with
sooty covers was pushed up against the wall on one side of the room. A
wide fireplace with rusty andirons in it showed at the back of the cabin
room. Everything was dirty and dreary-looking.
“Hasn’t been used for some time,” Tim commented, as they stood and
looked around.
“No,” Barry admitted. “Dad said it hadn’t. We’ll have a lot of cleaning
and fixing to do. Also, we’ll have to sleep on the floor in our sleeping
bags, as there is only one bed in the place, and it doesn’t look very
inviting. Well, how about it? Shall we go to work?”
The others were entirely agreeable, and they set to with a will. There
was an abundance of work for everyone, and so the afternoon hours sped
away. Just before dark they united their efforts and cut enough wood for
the winter evening. It was dark when they had gathered enough, and then
they turned their attention to supper. There was a rusty iron stove in
the lean-to, and between that and the open fireplace they managed
without any trouble. Supper was a happy affair, and when the wind rose a
little later, they congratulated themselves that they had a warm cabin
to camp in.
“And it looks a heap cleaner than it did when we came here,” Mac
remarked, looking around with satisfaction.
They spent the long evening chatting around the fireplace and at last
sought their sleeping bags on the log floor before the fire. Barry
opened the door to throw out some wash water and stood for a moment, his
eyes fixed on the darker mass of the lodge building.
“Tomorrow we’ll look into that place,” he reflected. “I wonder what the
secret of it is, anyway? Well, I hope we’ll be lucky enough to find out.
Maybe the haunt will be around tonight to look us over!”