The boys turned and went back toward their iceboats.
“Just the same,” muttered Joe, “I’d like to know what he was up to, measuring that fireplace so carefully.”
Joe’s thought was echoed in the minds of all. There was some mystery about Hanleigh’s visits to Cabin Island.
IX
Night on Cabin Island
It took the boys the greater part of the day installing themselves in the cabin on the island and “getting everything shipshape,” as Chet expressed it, by nightfall. After they had made the boats secure they were obliged to make numerous trips from the shore to the cabin, bringing up supplies, but by the time the early winter twilight fell they had managed to make the place very cosy and habitable.
They were too busy to discuss the strange affair of Hanleigh. Mid-afternoon had brought a rising wind that sent sheets of snow scurrying across the frozen surface of Barmet Bay and they saw that a storm was approaching, which made them more anxious to get settled by night.
They drew lots for the position of cook, the agreement being that each boy should alternate, a day at a time. Chet, to his relief, won the first appointment. As he did not relish the business of tramping back and forth to the iceboats in the snow, the arrangement was to his entire satisfaction and he was soon busying himself at the warm stove endeavoring to prepare a savory stew for their evening meal.
“Looks like a dirty night,” commented Frank, as he gazed out over the bay. “I’m glad we’ll be all snug and settled.”
Blankets had been brought up, the beds had been made, the cupboard had been stocked and the main food supplies had been stored in a little room just off the kitchen. The lamps had been filled with oil, and Biff had even tacked a few highly colored pictures on the walls, “to take away the bare look of the place.”
By nightfall one would have thought the adventurers had been living in the cabin for months.
The rising wind soon became a storm. As darkness fell, the snow began beating against the cabin windows and the gale howled down the great chimney. The boys had decided against using the fireplace for cooking purposes, the kitchen stove being more adaptable, but a roaring fire had been built and it cast a ruddy glow throughout the main room of the cabin.
Chet, with an apron tied about his corpulent waist, emerged from the kitchen from time to time, reporting the supper as “nearly ready,” and each announcement was greeted with groans, for the fragrant odors were whetting the boys’ appetites. At last, however, the table was laid, the steaming plates of stew were brought forth, and the boys fell to. Second helpings were in order, for the stew was excellent and the lads were hungry. Bread and butter, canned peas and corn, an immense mince pie and tin cups of hot coffee went the way of the stew, and in due time the boys sat back, sighing that they could not manage another bite.
Chet beamed with satisfaction when the others complimented him on the meal. The boys sat about the table for a while, laying plans for the forthcoming week, and then they washed the dishes. After that, they explored the rambling old cabin and finally sprawled on rugs before the roaring fire.
“Listen to that wind!” exclaimed Joe. “It sure makes me glad to be indoors by a warm blaze.”
“With a full stomach,” amended Chet.
“You would think of that.”
“The place wouldn’t seem half as cosy without that fireplace,” said Biff.
Frank regarded the great stone chimney.
“It certainly is a whopper. I wonder what Hanleigh was so interested in it for.”
“Let’s forget about Hanleigh,” said Chet. “He won’t bother us any more.”
“Let’s hope not. But, just the same, I’d like to know why he was making all those measurements.”
“If he comes back, we’ll heave him into a snowdrift and teach him a lesson,” suggested Biff. “We won’t let him spoil our holiday.”
Outside, the storm had become a blizzard. Joe went to the window. He could see nothing but driving snow, and the wind was howling down upon the island. The cabin, staunchly built, scarcely trembled before the impact of the winter gale. The activities of the day had left the boys tired and they decided to go to bed early.
In due time, after much scuffling about and after Biff had chastised Chet for trying to hide his socks in the woodpile, the boys retired for the night and blew out the lamps. The fire glowed red and the night wind howled down the chimney. Under the heavy blankets, the lads were warm and comfortable.
Silence descended upon the cabin.
The boys were just snuggling down to sleep when a terrifying sound rose above the clamor of the wind.
“Owoooooo!”
It was like the wail of some anguished spirit.
With one accord, the boys felt their hair rising upon their scalps. No one said a word. The dreadful wail died away, then broke out again.
“Owoooooo!”
Then came Chet’s voice, from between chattering teeth.
“Wh—wh—what was that?”
“Some of you chaps playing a joke on us?” demanded Frank suspiciously.
“N‑not m‑me,” declared Chet.
“Me neither,” said Joe.
“It wasn’t me,” Biff clamored.
Just then the sound broke out afresh.
“Owoooooo!”
It was a long-drawn-out, moaning sound that rose in volume to a veritable shriek, indescribably terrifying.
“Ghosts!” clamored Chet.
“There aren’t any such things!” snorted Joe. “It must be the wind.”
“You n‑never heard the w‑wind make a n‑noise like that before, d‑did you?” stammered Chet.
The other boys were forced to admit that they never had. The sound had a quality that was almost human. Besides, they had been listening to the howling of the wind all evening and at no time had it approached that mournful wail they had just heard.
“Maybe somebody is lost out in the snow and crying for help,” suggested Biff.
“How could anybody get out to this island on
