There were as many as a dozen, I should think, built of logs and unpainted shack, consisting for the most part of a single large room, though a few had a loft above and a rough lean-to in the rear.

A walk bordered by laurels stretched down the center between the two rows, and as the trees had not been clipped for a good many years, the shade was somewhat sombre.

Add to this the fact that one or two of the roofs had fallen in, that the hinges were missing from several doors, that there was not a whole pane of glass in all the dozen cabins, and it will readily be seen that the place gave rise to no very cheerful fancies.

I wondered that the Colonel did not have the houses pulled down; they were not a souvenir of past times which I myself should have cared to preserve.
The damp earth where the shade was thickest, plainly showed the marks of foot-prints--some made by bare feet, some by shoes--but I could not follow them for more than a yard or so, and I could not be certain they were not our own traces of the night before.

I poked into every one of the cabins, but found nothing suspicious about their appearance.