spite of its desolate outward appearance. It bore every evidence of late occupancy, although I could perceive no movement to indicate any human presence. I stared about the one room, which contained a rough table, two or three stools, and a bunk in the further corner. A bottle and two tin plates stood on the table, and the end of a ragged quilt dangled from the edge of the bunk nearly to the floor. Opposite me was an open fire-place, an iron kettle sitting in the ashes, while a short-barreled rifle stood upright in a corner. On one of the stools lay a broad-brimmed hat, and a pair of ragged corduroy pants hung on a wooden peg beside the door. The latter was unbarred, the heavy slab of wood leaning against the log wall. There was an opening above leading into the attic, but no ladder.
I grasped these details swiftly, but my gaze lingered on the bunk, uncertain as to whether or not it might be occupied. The shadows prevented my seeing distinctly, yet there was no movement, no sound of breathing, and I became convinced no form rested concealed under that edge of ragged quilt. There had certainly been a late occupant—perhaps during the past night. But, whoever the fellow might be—some hider-out probably—he had departed before daylight. He would likely be the same one who had knelt at the stream to drink. The
