THE LONELY CABIN
The car lurched again, went down on one side, as a front wheel sank into
a mud hole, swung out as Mr. Campbell pulled it back on the firmer
surface, and then came the question from the steersman:
“Where is it, Rick? That light?”
“Off to the left.”
“I don’t see anything,” Mr. Campbell said, “and I don’t dare take my
eyes from the road long enough to look. What did it seem to be, Rick?”
“I don’t know—just a light, that’s all.”
“I see it, too!” suddenly cried Chot, and Ruddy roused up at the boys’
voices, and put his fore paws on the back of the front seat.
“Down, old fellow,” said Rick gently. “Don’t jump up again.”
Ruddy quieted and Mr. Campbell, slowing down the speed of the car,
looked around.
“I see it,” he said. “Looks as if it were in a house, or something.
Well, whatever it is, they ought to take us in. It’s dangerous to keep
on in this storm.”
He drove slowly ahead and then, in the sheen from the auto headlights
and the glare from the fitful lightning flashes the travelers saw a
lonely cabin beside the road. From it came the cheerful gleam of light,
and as the travelers drew nearer they could see that the gleam spread
from a kerosene lamp on a table, about which, as they could see in
through the window, were gathered three men.
“I don’t remember to have passed this place before,” said Mr. Campbell,
as he guided the machine up to the door. “But maybe I didn’t notice it.
Anyhow, it’s the best port we could make in this storm, if they’ll take
us in. Whew! I believe it’s raining harder, if such a thing is
possible!”
Indeed the storm was a regular deluge now. The thunder seemed dying away
and the lightning was not so frequent and vivid, but the rain was
beating down powerfully.
“Better stay in the car, boys, until I see if they will take us in,”
suggested Mr. Campbell, as he got out. “It looks like a private house—or
perhaps I’d better say shack—but maybe they’ll have room for us.”
However, Rick and Chot had already alighted from the car, believing
their rain coats were protection enough. Ruddy followed them, a sad and
bedraggled figure, his tail drooping between his legs.
Mr. Campbell advanced to the door and knocked, and Rick and Chot,
standing where they could look in the window, saw the three men around
the table where the lamp shone, start from their seats.
The boys also saw something else, for one of the men reached for a gun
standing against a chair.
“Did you see that?” whispered Chot to Rick.
“Look out, Mr. Campbell,” warned Rick, not pausing to reply to his chum.
“They have a gun!”
“Oh, that’s all right,” was the easy answer. “We’re getting into the
west now, and when any one knocks on the door of a lonely cabin after
dark the safest thing is to reach for a gun—not that you’ll have to use
it, but just for safety’s sake.”
Silence followed the knock on the door—though it was not a complete
silence, for there was the pelting of the rain that made a continuous
low roar—and then came a hail from within the lonely cabin:
“Who’s there?”
“Strangers and travelers,” answered Mr. Campbell. “We’ve lost our way in
the storm—the bridge is down just beyond here—”
Suddenly the door was flung open, and in the glare of the lamp the three
men in the cabin gazed out into the rain-swept darkness. One of them
held a gun in readiness, but when the gleam of the light fell on the
forms of Rick, Ruddy and Chot, as well as on the friendly though wet and
dripping face of Mr. Campbell, the weapon was laid aside.
“What’s that you say, stranger?” asked the foremost man. “Is the bridge
over Rocky Gulch gone?”
“It’s down, yes, and but for the howling of our dog we might have gone
down with it. There was a red light, but it was out, and we didn’t have
any warning. Then we turned back in the storm, but we must have lost our
way for I don’t remember to have passed this place before.”
“Very likely you didn’t,” was the comment. “It’s off the main road. But
come in stranger, and bring the boys and dog with you. It’s no night for
even a dog to be out in.”
It was a warm enough welcome coming from strangers, and the boys were
very glad to enter the shack, Ruddy following his master.
“Is there any place around here where I can leave my car?” asked Mr.
Campbell.
“Shed around back,” gruffly answered one of the men.
“And, if it isn’t asking too much, could we stay here for the night?”
was the next request of Mr. Campbell. “We can stretch out on the floor,
or sit around the fire, for that matter.”
“I guess we can put you up,” was the somewhat gruff answer from the man
who had done most of the talking. “We’ve got some bunks—this is a
hunter’s cabin, and—”
“But we’re not hunting now,” came the quick retort of another of the
trio. “We know the game laws!”
“I’m not a warden,” laughed Mr. Campbell. “You have nothing to fear.
I’ll just run the car under the shed, and then I’ll bring your bags in
if you want them,” he added, for he thought Rick and Chot might want to
don sleeping garments, as long as there were bunks for them to turn
into.
“Oh, don’t bother,” said Rick. “We’re all right as we are, and the rain
coats kept us dry—all but our feet and we can take off our shoes.”
“We’ve got a good fire,” said another of the men, and the boys saw the
flames leaping and crackling in a fireplace as they advanced farther
into the room.
Mr. Campbell ran the car around behind the lonely shack, where he found
a rough shed that would afford some protection against the rain, and
keep dry the baggage and other things in the car. Sensing that this was
a sort of rough-and-ready stopping place, Mr. Campbell did not bring in
any of his luggage or that of the boys’ either. They could take off some
of their clothes and stretch out in the bunks, waiting for morning and,
he hoped, the stopping of the storm.
When he again entered the cabin he found Rick and Chot drying their feet
before the fire, their shoes having been removed, and Ruddy was
stretched out basking in the genial warmth. The three men sat at the
table, where they had been playing cards. Seemingly they were awaiting
the reappearance of Mr. Campbell that he might give a further account of
himself and his boy companions.
Mr. Campbell seemed to realize that an explanation was in order, for he
told, without being asked, of his trip to San Francisco, and mentioned
that he was taking Rick out to join Uncle Tod.
“You’ve got quite a ways yet to go,” observed the man who seemed to be
the leader. He had introduced himself as Martin, and his companions as
Elkton and Shadd. “We’re looking up some timber claims here,” he added,
“and we got the use of this cabin. ’Tisn’t ours, but you’re welcome to
stay, and we have some grub left.”
“Thanks,” said Mr. Campbell. “We don’t want to rob you, but a cup of hot
coffee would go mighty well now—if you can spare it.”
“Sure!” said the man called Shadd. He seemed to be the cook, for soon,
on a ramshackle stove in what was the kitchen of the shack, he had
brewed steaming coffee that was most grateful to the tired, cold and
damp travelers.
“Like some baked beans?” asked Shadd, when the coffee had been disposed
of.
“Sure!” exclaimed Rick, at whom the question seemed to be directed.
“We got plenty of them, and some bread and butter,” went on the cook.
“Might as well make a meal when you have the chance. I can give you
bacon, too.”
“Say,” laughed Mr. Campbell, “this is a regular hotel.”
“Hardly that,” said Joe Martin, as the others called him, “but such as
’tis you’re welcome to.”
Seldom had a meal tasted better, for all three were very hungry in spite
of the sandwiches and chocolate they had partaken of not long before.
And then as the rain kept up its pelting on the roof of the lonely
shack, the boys sat and were permeated by the warmth of the blazing fire
while Ruddy sighed in contentment. If Mr. Campbell was worried about the
chance of keeping on next day, over rain-torn roads, he said nothing
about it.
The shack was larger than it first appeared. There was the main room,
where the fire blazed, a small kitchen and two other rooms, fitted with
three bunks in each one. Mr. Campbell and the boys were given one bunk
room for themselves, and the other was used by the lumbermen as they
called themselves.
“Better turn in, boys,” suggested Mr. Campbell, as he noticed Rick and
Chot nodding before the sleep-compelling blaze.
“I guess I will,” said Rick, and soon he and his chum, with Ruddy
stretched out in a corner, were soundly slumbering. Mr. Campbell “turned
in” a little later.
Rick’s last thoughts, as he dozed off in the fairly comfortable bunk,
were of his Uncle Tod. He wondered why his mother’s relative had
departed so suddenly after the receipt of the mysterious message. Also
Rick wondered why Uncle Tod wanted him, another boy and Ruddy to come
out west.
Puzzled thoughts over these questions seemed to follow Rick in his
sleep, for he dreamed that he and Chot were trying to rescue Uncle Tod
from the Indians who had unexpectedly started on the war path. Rick was
dimly conscious that Ruddy was moving uneasily about in the night, and
he also thought he felt the dog’s cold nose on his face as if Ruddy were
trying to awaken him.
But Rick slept on, and so did Chot, until the morning sun streamed in
through a window, betokening that the storm was over.
Then they heard Mr. Campbell calling them. He had left his bunk, and was
in the main room, and, as he called, there was that in his voice which
showed wonder and alarm.