In the corner farthest from the door was a rude fireplace made of large flat stones, although there was no opening for the smoke.
Henry surveyed it all thoughtfully, and he came to the conclusion that it was a hut for hunting, built by some warrior of an inquiring mind who had found this secret place, and who had recognized its possibilities.
Here after an expedition for game he could lie hidden from enemies and take his comfort without fear.

Doubtless he had sat in this hut on rainy days like the present one and smoked his pipe in the long, patient calm of which the Indian is capable.
Yes, there was the pipe, unnoticed before, trumpet shaped and carved beautifully, lying on a small bark shelf.

Henry picked it tip and examined the bowl.

It was as dry as a bone, and not a particle of tobacco was left there.

He believed that it had not been used for at least a year.