CHAPTER XXIII.

THE COTTAGE IN THE WOODS.

To make sure that he was not mistaken, Harry continued to search in the vicinity of the spot, and presently he discovered the tracks of the sled through a tiny drift of snow on one side of the creek, twenty feet farther on.

Without hesitation he fired his gun, and, loading hastily, fired a second shot. Then he sat down impatiently to await the arrival of the others.

Jack might have joined him in a few minutes, but he wisely waited at the mouth of the creek for Andy, Boxy and Pickles, that they might not go astray along the shore.

Soon the four boys hove in sight, all eager to learn what he had discovered.

The top of the coffee pot was exhibited, and Harry’s story told, and then, with their hopes revived, they started up the creek, eager to trace the trail to its end.

It was not long before the creek began to narrow, and here the ice was covered with snow, through which it was easy to follow the tracks.

“Here’s where they left the creek,” said Harry, ten minutes later. “See, they moved off directly through the woods.”

“But it’s a roundabout course,” observed Jack, “and that proves that it was new ground for them to cover.”

Presently they came to a deep ravine, and saw that the marauders had walked along this in both directions, looking for a place to cross. Being unable to find it, they had continued along the ravine until its upper end was reached, and then struck out through the thick woods between two hills.

“They must have visited the camp early in the morning,” said Boxy. “Otherwise, they couldn’t have come so far before nightfall.”

“It’s my opinion they came in right after we went away,” said Andy. “Maybe they were watching for our departure.”

“Dat’s de ghost did it!” burst out Pickles. “I’ll bet my ole hat on it!”

“I guess the ghost was one of the party,” said Jack, dryly, and Boxy started and suddenly turned red.

No more was said just then, Harry at that moment catching sight of a partridge and firing. He caught the bird just as it was going up with a whirr, and brought it down almost at the party’s feet.

“There, Andy, now we can have three kinds of meat instead of two,” he laughed, and put the bird in his game-bag.

“It must be nearly noon,” said Jack, a few minutes later. “Wait till I look at my watch.” He unbuttoned his overcoat and his jacket. “Quarter to twelve.”

“I knowed it was about dat, kase I’m so hungry,” replied Pickles.

“We can stop for dinner if you say so,” said Harry.

It was so agreed, and, coming to several fallen trees, they rested and ate their venison. Andy wanted to cook his squirrel, but it was voted by the others that this would take too long.

“Those fellows can’t be very far off,” said Harry. “And the sooner we overtake them the better. It’s more than likely they’ll use up all our coffee, crackers and other stuff if they are given half a chance.”

The midday meal was soon over, and, somewhat refreshed by their brief rest, the boys moved on with renewed vigor.

“We are in the very depths of these woods,” said Harry. “See how thick the trees are.”

“Supposing we get lost?” put in Boxy. “Those fellows might have lost their way for all we know.”

A minute or two later Jack fancied he saw some sort of an animal moving through the brush to his right. He made a dash for it, calling to the others to wait until his return.

He was gone but a short while, and then they heard him yelling for them to come to him.

They soon joined him, and discovered that he had killed a strange-looking beast, not unlike a wildcat. He had a desperate struggle with the animal, and his clothing was torn in several places.

“It was a blow on the back that settled him,” he said. “I must have paralyzed his backbone. What a horrible-looking thing!”

“Are you going to take it along?” asked Boxy.

“No, leave it where it is. It gives me the creeps to look at it!”

And Jack shuddered over his narrow escape.

They were about to turn back to the trail when Harry gave an exclamation of surprise, and pointed through the trees to their left.

“A cottage!”

“It is true enough!” exclaimed Andy. “And right in the middle of the woods! How queer!”

“I wonder who lives there?” asked Boxy.

“He must be a regular hermit, whoever it be,” vouchsafed Harry. “He couldn’t choose a more lonely spot!”

“Maybe the fellows who robbed us live there!” cried Boxy, suddenly.

“That’s so,” returned Jack. “Go slow, boys, and be on your guard!”

With extreme caution they approached the cottage, which was a long, one-story affair, very much dilapidated. The door and the windows were tightly closed. There was no smoke coming from the crumbling chimney, and nowhere about the place were there the first signs of life.

“It’s deserted,” said Harry, and he kicked open the front door with his foot.

The banging of the door startled a number of birds up among the eaves, and they flew out of the cottage in a bunch before any of the club members could fire at them.

“Hullo, in there!” called out Boxy, but no answer was received, and the five boys stepped inside.

“Deserted, true enough,” remarked Jack, as he and the others gazed around.

“Yes, and for a good number of years,” rejoined Harry. “Just look how thick the cobwebs hang everywhere. I dare say no one has been here for years.”

“You are right, for even the fireplace is falling down,” said Andy. “I wonder who ever built away out here in this lonely spot?”

“Some chap who was tired of the world, most likely,” laughed Jack. “Say, boys,” he went on, suddenly, “do you know what I think that animal I killed was?”

“What?”

“A house cat, or a house cat’s offspring, gone wild. Didn’t it look like it?”

“Dat’s so,” put in Pickles. “Like as not dat animal’s great-grandmudder was de pet hyar, and when de pusson wot libed hyar died or moved away, de cat had to shift fo’ herself.”

“And so she became a wildcat, and joined the other wildcats around here,” finished Harry. “It may be so--stranger things have happened.”

Jack was in for leaving the deserted cottage at once and continuing on the track of those who had plundered their hut, but the others demurred.

“Let’s take a look around first,” cried Boxy. “It’s fun to strike an old place like this. Let’s see what we can find. Perhaps we’ll unearth a treasure.”

“Not likely!” laughed Jack. “But there are some few old dishes in the pantry collection hunters might go wild over,” he went on, as he brought out half a dozen of the delicate blue ware variety.

“Let us take them along!” said Andy. “Evidently the original owner is dead, or has given up all claim to them.”

He and his brother continued to sort over the stuff in the pantry, while Boxy and Pickles took down several articles from the wide, old-fashioned mantelpiece.

“Here’s a candlestick from revolutionary times,” said Boxy. “I’m going to take that along and put it in father’s war collection.”

“An’ dar is an ole tinder box,” cried Pickles. “We kin use dat if we run out ob matches.”

“Here’s a bean pot half full of moldy beans,” called out Andy, presently. “Shouldn’t wonder if the fellow who once lived here was a Yankee.”

“And here’s a book on money!” shouted Jack. “Here is a name: John Applegate, his book, January 1, 1824. Phew! over seventy years ago! He must be dead by this time if he was, say twenty, when he got the volume.”

“He was more than that,” returned Boxy, “for here is his name over the door: John Applegate, 1814. He built this cottage eighty years ago. Would you believe it! I should think it would tumble down in that time.”

“It was strongly built, and has probably been repaired from time to time,” said Jack. “But, whoever he was, John Applegate is probably dead and gone now, so we can take what we please from here.”

“I’m glad to hear that!” shouted Harry from the next room. “For I have found something that is indeed a treasure.”

“What is it? What is it?” cried the others, and they rushed to where he was kneeling in front of a worm-eaten chest.

“A stocking full of old coins!” he returned, and he held it up for their inspection.