with
the heavy, suffocating odor. They coughed, and their eyes watered, but
they managed to endure it.

As they had seen, the contents of the place were all topsy-turvy. The
furniture consisted solely of a rough table of split planks, and a
couple of rough seats. A heap of rusty, brown _sapin_ in a corner,
covered with a torn blanket, represented a bed--possibly the one in
which the trapper had died.

In one corner stood a double-barreled shotgun, still loaded. Three
pairs of snowshoes were thrust under the rafters; several worn
moccasins lay on the floor, along with nearly a dozen steel traps, a
bundle of furs, some of which were valuable, a camp kettle, an axe,
strips of hide, dry bones, a blanket, fishing-tackle--an unspeakable
litter of things, some worthless, some to men in a wilderness precious
as gold.

The last occupants had plainly left in such a desperate hurry that they
had abandoned most of their possessions. Why had they done it? The
boys could not guess.

The heavy formalin fumes rose and choked them as they poked over the
rubbish. But they found nothing to show the fate of the prospector and
the surviving half-breed, or even to tell them whether this was really
the cabin they were seeking.

"Throw this rubbish into the fireplace," said Macgregor. "Burning is
the best thing for it, and the fire will ventilate the place. There's
no danger of germs on the metal things."

"These furs are worth something," said Fred, who had been looking them
over. "There are a dozen or so of mink and marten--enough to pay the
expenses of the trip."

They laid the furs aside, and cramming the rest of the litter into the
snowy fireplace, with the dead balsam boughs, set it afire. In the red
blaze the hut assumed an unexpectedly homelike aspect.

"Not such a bad place for the winter, after all," Maurice remarked,
casting his eye about. "I shouldn't mind spending a month trapping
here myself. What if we did, fellows, eh? Here are plenty of traps,
and we might clear three or four hundred dollars, with a little luck."

"Here's something new," interrupted Peter, who had been grubbing about
in a corner.

He came forward with a woodsman's "turkey" in his hands--a heavy canvas
knapsack, much stained and battered, and rather heavy.

"Something in this," he continued, trying the rusty buckles. "Why,
what's the matter, Fred?"

For Fred had uttered a sudden cry, and they saw his face turn deathly
white. He