"Owen wants us to cross over to where he is," Max went on to say; "and I
reckon the quickest way to find out is to join him."

"Ginger, I can see Toby there, too; yes, and now I get a glimpse of
Trapper Jim and Bandy-legs! They're all sitting in a row on that log,
Max, and lookin' solemn-like at the cabin. What in the wide world is up?
She ain't a-fire that I can notice."

"Come along; let's find out," said Max, stooping to his end of the pole
upon which the hind quarter of venison was slung.

"I'll just bust if I don't know soon, because I hate mysteries," muttered
Steve, as he copied the example of his chum.

When the two victorious hunters came upon the rest, Jim and Toby and
Bandy-legs got up off the log. They even smiled a little, but Max thought
there was something rather forced about this half grin.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Yes," added Steve impetuously, "what are you all pulling such long faces
for, just like it was a funeral or something; tell us that?"

"It _is_ something nigh as bad as a funeral," said Trapper Jim, a twinkle
appearing in his eye.

"We're certainly bereft--of our home," added Owen, making a wry face.

"What!" gasped Steve, looking from the speaker across to the cabin.