nowledge, even while facing such a scene of havoc as this.

"Sure they will," grunted the guide, who was already turning hastily in
the direction of the cabin.

The thought struck Thad just then that perhaps something had happened to
the big owner of the place. He might be found there, sick, and unable to
move hand or foot. In that case a new problem would have to be faced,
and a solution worked out.

But no matter what happened, they could not remain here long. The fire
was edging around, and working in toward Cale's cabin. In ten minutes,
perhaps not so long a time as that, it would have swept over this
territory, and gone roaring and leaping into the woods beyond.

Now they were at the door of the cabin. It was shut, and there was no
evidence that Cale was within. Jim did not hesitate a second. He knew
this was a time for action rather than thinking; and so he immediately
started to push open the door.

Fortunately this did not seem to be fastened in any way, so the guide
had no trouble to speak of in doing what he desired.

Then Jim rushed inside, and Thad followed closely after him.

One glance around seemed to tell them that the cabin was empty. It was a
cheerless looking place, according to the mind of the boy, accustomed as
he was to the comforts of a good home in a civilized community. But no
doubt it had been "home" to Cale Martin, up to the time the light of it
was taken away by young Jim Hasty.

The guide pointed to a small photograph that was fastened to the wall.
It was not a work of art by any means, and evidently represented the
labor of some aspiring village photographer; but as Thad bent hastily
over to examine it, in a couple of seconds, he saw that it was the face
of a very sweet looking girl.

And he did not need to be told that he was looking on the face of Little
Lina, Jim's wife, and the only child of the lonely poacher, Old Cale
Martin.

"He isn't here, Jim. What will we do now? Do you have any idea where
he's gone?" the boy demanded, in his excitement clutching at the sleeve
of the guide's coat.

"I kin give a guess, 'baout it," replied Jim. "Seems like he keeps a
litter o' foxes sumwhar off in ther woods; an' chances air the ole man,
he's risked his life tew git out thar, an' set 'em free so's they cud
'scape. 'Twud be jest like him tew dew thet same thing."

"Hark! I thought I heard a shout!" exclaimed Thad.

Both of them listened anxiously; Jim even hurrying toward the open do