to go on," said Macgregor. "I can't believe that Horace
is dead, though, and we must stay on the spot till we know something
more definite."

"Of course we must," Maurice agreed.

"I shouldn't have asked it of you, boys," said Fred. "I'd made up my
mind to stay, though, till I found out something certain--and it would
have been mighty lonely."

"Nonsense! Do you think we'd have left you?" Maurice exclaimed.
"Aren't we all Horace's friends? The only thing I'm thinking of is the
grub. We have barely enough for a week more."

"What of that?" said Peter. "We have rifles, haven't we? The woods
ought to be full of deer--plenty of partridges and small game, anyway.
We must make a regular business of hunting till we get enough meat for
a week, and we must economize, of course, on our bread and canned
stuff. Then there are sure to be whitefish or trout in the nearest
lake, and we can fish through the ice. Lucky the Indians left their
hooks and lines. And we can trap, too."

"Boys," cried Fred, "you're both bricks. You're solid gold--" A choke
in his voice stopped him.

"A pair of gold bricks!" laughed Maurice, with a suspicious huskiness
in his own tones.

But the thing was settled.

It turned colder that night, and the next day dawned with blustering
snow flurries. Their open camp was far from comfortable, and with some
reluctance they moved into the cabin.

A good deal of fresh snow had drifted in, but they swept it out,
brought in fresh balsam twigs for couches, and lighted a roaring fire.

The hut was decidedly homelike and cozy, and a vast improvement on the
open camp. The smell of formaldehyde had gone entirely. The light
from the skin-covered window was poor, but that seemed to be the only
drawback, until, as the temperature rose, the roof showed a leak near
the door. Snow water dripped in freely, in spite of their efforts to
stop it, until Maurice finally clambered to the roof, cleared away the
snow, tore up the thatch, and covered the defective spot with a large
piece of old deer-hide.

In the afternoon it stopped snowing; Macgregor and Fred, with the two
rifles, made a wide circuit round the cabin, but killed no game except
half a dozen spruce grouse. Not a deer trail did they see; probably
the animals were yarded for the winter.

Without being discouraged, however, Peter set out again the next
morning, this time with Maurice. Fred, left alone, spent most of the
day in cutting wood and