“Because,” was the rather short answer of Tom. Then, feeling perhaps that he might explain a little more at length, he turned from where he stood in the tumbled-down doorway, and added: “Let’s get in out of the storm. This is a good place to rest, away from that cutting wind. Quiet, Towser,” he added, for the dog showed signs of not wanting to go in. He growled and hung back. Then he looked in the direction in which they had come, and his hair rose on the back of his neck as though he saw something the boys did not see, and resented the sight--whatever it was. “I don’t like that,” commented Bert. “Dogs know more than we do--sometimes.” “Oh, come on in!” repeated Tom, and he spoke to the dog again. This time Towser followed his temporary master inside the hut. “But what gets me is _why_ are we going in?” objected George. “It will only delay us, and if we’ve got to make seven miles to Ramsen to-night, we’d better be getting at it.” “That’s just it,” spoke Tom quickly. “I think we can’t get at it.” “What do you mean?” came from Jack. “I mean that we can’t go on in this storm. It’s getting worse every minute, and we may stray off the road. We have found this shelter providentially, and we ought to take advantage of it. It will give us a half-decent place to stay, and we won’t be buried in the snow which may happen if we keep on. “Come inside and stay here, that’s what I mean,” Tom went on. “It might be a heap-sight worse,” and he flashed his torch about the bare and crumbling ruin of the cabin. “What!” cried Bert. “Do you mean to stay here all night?” “Why not?” asked Tom. “It’s better than being out in the storm, isn’t it? Hark to that wind!” As he spoke a blast howled around the corner of the shack, and blew a cloud of flakes in through a glassless window. “It’s a little better than outside--but not much,” murmured George. “Look at those windows.” “We can find something to stuff in them,” said Tom cheerfully. “There may be some old bags about. And we haven’t been upstairs yet. This place may be furnished better than we think. Come on, boys, make up your minds to stay here.” “Well, we might do worse, that’s a fact,” slowly admitted Jack. “Say, look at that dog, would you!” His manner, as he said this, was excited, but no less so than that of the dog. The animal brushed past the group of boys, fairly pulling loose the improvised leash from Tom’s hand and stood in the doorway with bristling hair, lips drawn back from his teeth and showing every appearance of anger. “Something ails him,” spoke George, in a low voice. “I should say so,” agreed Tom, rubbing his hand where the stout cord had cut into him, even in spite of his heavy mitten. “It’s that bear!” cried Jack. “What?” questioned Tom. “That bear we were following,” explained Jack. “It’s outside now, and the dog has winded him. Where’s my gun? I’m going to have a potshot at him!”