There's your deserted log cabin!" he remarked, pointing. "Am I correct,
Bob?"

"You surely are, suh," replied the Southerner. "And as I fail to see
smoke coming from the chimney at the back, it looks to me as though
nobody had got ahead of us there. If the roof only holds, we can laugh
at the rain, believe me."

When the scouts hurried up to the cabin, for there was now no longer any
doubt about the storm being close at hand, since lightning flashed and
the grumble of thunder had changed into a booming that grew louder with
every peal, they found to their great satisfaction that it seemed in a
fair state of preservation, despite the fact that it must have been left
to the sport of the elements for many a long year.

"Nothing wrong with this, boys," announced the scoutmaster, as they
pushed inside the log house, and looked around. "And if we know half as
much as we think we do, there'll be a pile of wood lying here before
that rain drops down on us. Just remember that we've got a whole night
ahead."

"Hurrah! that's the ticket! Get busy everybody. We don't belong to the
Beaver Patrol, but we can work just as well as if we did. Whoop her up,
fellers!"

Bumpus was as good as his words. Dropping his haversack and staff in a
corner, he pushed out of the door. Although the evening was being
ushered in sooner than might have been expected, owing to the swoop of
the storm, there was still plenty of light to see where dry wood was to
be picked up for the effort. And immediately every one of the eight
scouts was working furiously to bring in a good supply.

No doubt the rattle of the thunder caused the boys to hurry things; for
by the time the first drops began to fall they had secured as much as
they expected to use. And already there was Giraffe on his knees in
front of the big fireplace that lay at the foot of the wide-throated
chimney, whittling shavings with which to start a cheery blaze.

This had just started into life when the rattle of a horse's hoofs came
to the ears of the boys who had clustered at the door to witness the
breaking of the summer storm.

"Hey! looks like another pilgrim overtaken by the gale," said Davy
Jones, as a man on horseback came riding furiously along the wretched
road, heading straight for the old cabin; as though he knew of its
presence, and might indeed have found its shelter acceptable on other
occasions.

He was evidently greatly astonished to find the place already occupied
by a