It was built of rough logs, the chinks once closed with mud which had

fallen away. The door stood open, and his entrance into its darkness was

followed by the scurrying of many little feet. Bassett unstrapped his

raincoat from the saddle with fingers numb with cold, and flung it to

the ground. He uncinched and removed the heavy saddle, hobbled his horse

and removed the bridle, and turned him loose with a slap on the flank.

"For the love of Mike, don't go far, old man," he besought him. And was

startled by the sound of his own voice.

By the light of his candle lantern the prospects were extremely poor.

The fir branches in the double-berthed bunk were dry and useless, the

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floor was crumbling under his feet, and the roof of the lean-to had

fallen in and crushed the rusty stove. In the cabin itself some one had

recently placed a large flat stone in a corner for a fireplace, with two

slabs to back it, and above it had broken out a corner of the roof as

a chimney. Bassett thought he saw the handwork of some enterprising

journalist, and smiled grimly.

He set to work with the resource of a man who had learned to take what

came, threw the dry bedding onto the slab and set a match to it, brought

in portions of the lean-to roof for further supply for the fire, opened

a can of tomatoes and set it on the edge of the hearth to heat, and

sliced bacon into his diminutive frying-pan.

It was too late for any examination that night. He ate his supper from

the rough table, drawing up to it a broken chair, and afterwards brought

in more wood for his fire. Then, with a lighted cigar, and with his

boots steaming on the hearth, he sat in front of the blaze and fell into

deep study.

He was aching in every muscle when he finally stretched out on the bare

boards of the lower bunk. While he slept small furry noses appeared in

the openings in the broken floor, to be followed by little bodies that

moved cautiously out into the open. He roused once and peered over the

edge of the bunk. Several field mice were basking in front of the dying

embers of the fire, and two were sitting on his boots. He grinned at

them and lay back again, but he found himself fully awake and very

uncomfortable. He lay there, contemplating his own folly, and demanding

of himself almost fiercely what he had expected to get out of all this

effort and misery. For ten years or so men had come here. Wilkins had

come, for one, and there had been others. And had found nothing, and had

gone away. And now he was there, the end of the procession, to look for

God knows what.




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