The Boy Scouts at the Canadian Border. Goldfrap John Henry

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      “There you go jumping at conclusions, hand over fist, Tubby,” said Andy quickly. “Rob doesn’t mean that at all. Why, stop and think how your uncle was so very particular to mention that communications of importance sent to this camp would get to him in due time. He’s handling some big business, and couldn’t afford to drop out of the world entirely, even for two weeks. If he’s left here be sure we’ll find something to tell us where to look for him.”

      “Come along and let’s see,” urged Tubby, “they say the proof of the pudding lies in the eating. Inside of five minutes or so we ought to know the worst, or the best. I’ll try and stand the shock, fellows.”

      Once more they advanced. They could not always keep in a direct line on account of the obstacles that beset their course, so that Tubby’s estimate of the time required to reach the deserted logging camp proved erroneous; but by the end of ten minutes the little party drew up before the door of the long cabin which they understood had once sheltered a score of those rough wielders of the ax known as lumber jacks.

      Some of the other rude buildings constituting the “camp” were in various stages of decay and in tumble-down ruin, but the bunk-house seemed to have been more substantially built, for it looked as though intact.

      Before they arrived all of the boys had made a discovery that increased their haste to reach the door. There was some sort of paper fastened to it, and Rob had a pretty good idea as to what it would turn out to be.

      “Uncle George has gone away from here, and left directions where to look for him,” announced Andy promptly, showing that he, too, had made a guess concerning the nature of that notice on the door.

      “Shucks!” Tubby was heard to grunt, at the same time giving his burden an impatient flirt, as though almost in a humor to rebel against another long siege of packing it over miles and miles of dreary pineland.

      But a surprise, and a pleasing one at that, awaited them all as they found themselves able to decipher the writing on the paper.

      It proved to be a business sheet, with Uncle George’s printed address up in the left-hand corner. He himself had written the message in a bold hand, which any one capable of reading at all might easily make out; and this was what the trio of scouts read:

      When Tubby read that delightful news he fell to laughing until he shook like a bowlful of jelly. It evidently made him very happy, and he did not hesitate to show it to his two faithful comrades. Indeed, all of them had smiles on their faces, for it would be much more satisfactory to loaf around this spot, possibly taking toll of the partridges, and perhaps even a wandering deer, than to continue their search for an elusive party, whose movements might partake of the nature of a will-o’-the-wisp.

      “I’m going to make a sign reading ‘Alabama,’ and stick it above the door, the first thing,” announced Tubby, with a grateful heart. “It means ‘here we rest.’ If ever three fellows deserved a spell of recuperation we certainly are those fellows.”

      “How generous of Uncle George,” said Andy, “to say the latch string is always out! Then, too, he calls attention to the fact that the door is only held shut by a bar on the outside, instead of within. All we have to do, fellows, is to drop our packs here. I’ll remove that bar, and swing the door wide open, after which we’ll step in and take possession.”

      He proceeded to follow out this nice little program, – at least he got as far as dropping his pack and removing the bar; but hardly had he started to open the door than Andy gave a sudden whoop, and slammed it shut again with astonishing celerity. Tubby and Rob stared at him as though they thought he had seen a genuine ghost.

      CHAPTER VII

      AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER

      “Oh! what did you see inside the cabin, Andy?” gasped Tubby, beginning to look alarmed, and shrinking back a little, because he did not happen to be carrying one of the two guns in the party.

      “Wow! Talk to me about your Jabberwock!” ejaculated Andy, making his face assume an awed expression that added to Tubby’s state of dismay. “He’s in there!”

      “But how could a big bull moose get inside a cabin, when the door’s shut, and fastened with a bar?” questioned the amazed and incredulous fat scout.

      “It isn’t any moose,” scoffed Andy, and, turning to Rob, he went on: “I tell you, the biggest bobcat I ever set eyes on is in there, and has been having a high old time scratching around among the provisions left by Uncle George and his party. Oh, his yellow eyes looked like balls of phosphorus in the half gloom. I thought he was going to jump for me, so I slammed the door shut, and set the bar again.”

      “A wildcat, do you say?” observed Rob, looking decidedly interested. “Well, one thing sure, Uncle George never meant that generous invitation for this destructive creature. As he couldn’t very well read the notice, or lift that heavy bar, it stands to reason the cat found some other way of entering the bunk-house.”

      “How about the chimney, Rob?” asked Andy, as quick as a flash.

      “Now I wouldn’t be much surprised if that turned out to be his route,” mused the scout leader. “They have a wonderful sense of smell, you know, and this fellow soon learned that there were things good to eat inside the cabin. Finding the place deserted, so far as his two-footed enemies were concerned, he must have prowled all around, and finally mounted to the roof. Then the opening in the chimney drew his attention, and getting bolder as time passed, he finally dropped down.”

      Tubby, who had been listening with rapt attention, now broke out again.

      “He must be a mighty bold cat to do that, I should say, fellows. Goodness knows how much damage he’s done to Uncle George’s precious stores. Oh! doesn’t it seem like a shame to have a miserable pussycat spoiling the stuff you’ve gone and nearly broken your back to pack away up here? But will we have to pitch a camp in one of those other smaller buildings, and let the bobcat hold the fort in the comfortable bunkhouse, with its jolly cooking fireplace?”

      Thereupon Andy snorted in disdain.

      “I’d like to see myself doing that cowardly thing, Tubby!” he exclaimed. “Possession may be nine points of the law, but in this case there’s something bigger than the law, and that’s self-preservation. That beast is going to pay for his meddling, if I know what’s what. Rob, how’d we better go at the job?”