Arriving alongside the wall of the lonely cabin that had been built
many years before by a man who meant to start a farm up in this
region, the boys hastened to glue their eyes to the opening.

What they saw astonished them and at the same time relieved their
feelings. There was but a single occupant of the cabin, and he a boy
about their own age, also dressed in the khaki uniform of a scout.
He was busily engaged in cooking some supper, and apparently did not
suspect the presence of any one near by.

"Why, it's Ralph Kenyon!" gasped Bud. "Whatever can he be doing all
by himself up here?"

Hugh could give a guess. He knew that in times past the young chap
in question had made it a practice to trap the little wild animals
that might still be found in the woods and swamps of that region,
for the sake of the money he could get for their fine furry pelts.
This was before he joined the scouts, which was soon after valuable
ore had been discovered on the Kenyon farm and a strip of land sold
to the railroad, these transactions placing the family on a secure
financial foundation.

Evidently as the cold weather came on, Ralph had been tempted to
wander over to his old stamping-grounds, not to set traps as of
yore or shoot any of the timid woods' animals for the sake of their
warm coats, but just to revive old recollections.

He had evidently fetched his double-barrel shotgun along with him,
since it stood in a corner; and he was evidently cooking a brace