Doubtless the Indian who had built this hunting lodge had fallen in some foray, and the secret of it had been lost until Henry Ware, seeking through the cold and rain, had stumbled upon it.
It was nothing but a dilapidated little lodge of poles and bark, all a-leak, but the materials of a house were there, and Henry was strong and skillful.

He covered the holes in the roof with fallen pieces of bark, laying heavy pieces of wood across them to hold them in place.
Then he lifted the bark shutter into position and closed the door.

Some drops of rain still came in through the roof, but they were not many, and he would not mind them for the present.

Then he opened the door and began his hardest task.
He intended to build a fire on the flat stones, and, securing fallen wood, he stripped off the bark and cut splinters from the inside.

It was slow work and he was very cold, his wet feet sending chills through him, but he persevered, and the little heap of dry splinters grew to a respectable size.