And each step they took now added to the enthusiasm of Wabi and his companions.  Evidences of game and fur animals were plenty.  A thousand ideal locations for a winter camp were about them, and their progress became slow and studied.

A gently sloping hill of considerable height now lay in their path and Mukoki led the ascent.  At the top the three paused in joyful astonishment.  At their feet lay a “dip,” or hollow, a dozen acres in extent, and in the center of this dip was a tiny lake partly surrounded by a mixed forest of cedar, balsam and birch that swept back over the hill, and partly inclosed by a meadow-like opening.  One might have traveled through the country a thousand times without discovering this bit of wilderness paradise hidden in a hilltop.  Without speaking Mukoki threw off his heavy pack.  Wabi unbuckled his harness and relieved his shoulders of their burden.  Rod, following their example, dropped his small pack beside that of the old Indian, and Wolf, straining at his babeesh thong, gazed with eager eyes into the hollow as though he, too, knew that it was to be their winter home.

Wabi broke the silence.

“How is that, Muky?” he asked.

Mukoki chuckled with unbounded satisfaction.

“Ver’ fine.  No get bad wind—­never see smoke—­plenty wood—­plenty water.”

Relieved of their burdens, and leaving Wolf tied to the toboggan, the hunters made their way down to the lake.  Hardly had they reached its edge when Wabi halted with a startled exclamation and pointed into the forest on the opposite side.

“Look at that!”

A hundred yards away, almost concealed among the trees, was a cabin.  Even from where they stood they could see that it was deserted.  Snow was drifted high about it.  No chimney surmounted its roof.  Nowhere was there a sign of life.

Slowly the hunters approached.  It was evident that the cabin was very old.  The logs of which it was built were beginning to decay.  A mass of saplings had taken root upon its roof, and everything about it gave evidence that it had been erected many years before.  The door, made of split timber and opening toward the lake, was closed; the one window, also opening upon the lake, was tightly barred with lengths of sapling.

Mukoki tried the door, but it resisted his efforts.  Evidently it was strongly barred from within.

Curiosity now gave place to astonishment.

How could the door be locked within, and the window barred from within, without there being somebody inside?

For a few moments the three stood speechless, listening.

“Looks queer, doesn’t it?” spoke Wabi softly.

Mukoki had dropped on his knees beside the door.  He could hear no sound.  Then he kicked off his snow-shoes, gripped his belt-ax and stepped to the window.

A dozen blows and one of the bars fell.  The old Indian sniffed suspiciously, his ear close to the opening.  Damp, stifling air greeted his nostrils, but still there was no sound.  One after another he knocked off the remaining bars and thrust his head and shoulders inside.  Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and he pulled himself in.