's like this. The match was going out
when I thought I glimpsed something on the rocky floor that looked like
the ashes of a dead fire! And after that I thought I'd like to make sure
before I left here,---just to satisfy my curiosity, you know, boys."

"A fire, eh?" ventured Bristles. "Well, since no wild animal was ever
known to start such a thing, that tells us this same cave must have
sheltered human beings some time or other."

"Hoboes, most likely," observed Colon; "trust them for finding such a
snug hiding-place, after they've gone and robbed some country postoffice,
or a farmer's chicken coop."

"I'll strike a light, then, and Fred, you show us where the ashes lie,"
and with these words Bristles drew a match hastily along the seat of his
trousers, causing it to burst into a bright flame.

"Over this way, boys," Fred told them, as he stepped across the rocky
floor of the cave that had been found in such a queer way.

It was just as he had said, for there on the stones they could see the
plain marks of a fire. Colon knew a thing or two about woodcraft, and
the very first indication of this was when he thrust his hand into the
ashes.

"As cold as they can be," he observed, immediately.

"Which shows that the fire hasn't been burning lately at all," Bristles
hastened to add, to prove that he understood what Colon meant to infer.

"Whoever camped in here cooked a meal or two, that's plain," Fred
remarked, as he pointed to some chicken bones that were strewn around.

"Tramps, as sure as anything, and they've been raiding the hencoops
around this region, too," Colon ventured to say.

"And that poor old wild dog had to stand the blame for it all," said
Bristles. "It's nearly always that way; give a dog a bad name, and
everybody condemns him. For all we know, some of the sheep that have
been killed might have been pulled down by an innocent looking shaggy dog
belonging to the farmer himself, but it's so easy to saddle the blame on
the wicked one. What was that you picked up, Colon?"

"As near as I can make out it looks like one of those tin biscuit boxes
you see at the store," the tall boy replied, holding the object up.
"It's got a rubber band around it. Queer thing for tramps to buy. Only
imported biscuits are put up this way, Miss Fletcher told me, and she
ought to know because she's English, and won't eat any other kind."

"Let me see that tin, will you please, Colon?" asked Fred, suddenly.

Aft