"Good!" Addison exclaimed. "This must be Lone Pond, and see, away over
there is Birchboard Mountain. Boundary Camp is just this side of it. It
can't be more than four or five miles."
Skirting the south shore of the pond, we pushed on through fir and cedar
swamps. Worse traveling it would be impossible to imagine. Every hole
and hollow was full of yellow slush. Finally, after another two hours or
so of hard going, we came out on Lurvey's Stream about half a mile below
the camp, which was on the other bank. A foot or more of water was
running yellow over the ice; but the ice itself was still firm, and we
were able to cross on it.
Even before we came in sight of the camp, we smelled wood smoke.
"Halse is there!" I exclaimed.
"It may be trappers from over the line," Addison said. "Be cautious."
I ran forward, however, and peeped in at the little window. Some one was
crawling on the floor, partly behind the old camp stove, and I had to
look twice before I could make out that it was really Halstead. Then we
burst in upon him, and Addison said rather shortly, "Well, hunter, what
are you doing here?"
Halstead raised himself slowly off the floor beside the stove, stared at
us for a moment without saying a word, and then suddenly burst into
tears!
It was some moments before Halstead could speak, he was so shaken with
sobs.
Pages:
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418