The two young lumbermen went on horseback, each carrying a shot-gun, hoping to bag some game on the trip. The mud and the water running along every tiny watercourse did not daunt them, and each was in the best of spirits. "Our ride will take us close to Pine Tree Lake," said Dale, as they pushed on. "If we find everything O.K., let us go to the lake and take a look at the fine lodge belonging to Mr. Jefferson Wilbur." "I'm willing, if it doesn't take too long, Dale." "Of course the lodge is locked up now, but perhaps there is a caretaker there who will show us through. Or, if there isn't, we can look around the outside and through the stables anyway." The young lumbermen kept their eyes wide open for game, and succeeded in getting half a dozen birds of good size. But nothing else appeared, much to their disappointment. It lacked an hour of noon when they reached the row of firs marking the boundary of the Paxton claim. The blazes on the trees were plainly to be seen, and they followed the line from end to end without much trouble. "Nobody has cut any timber here," was Owen's comment. "Some hunters have cut down some firewood, but that is all. It's a false alarm." "And we've had the journey for nothing," added Dale. "But I've enjoyed the trip, haven't you?" "I should enjoy it more if we could spot some good game." "Well, the day isn't over yet." From the northwest corner of the claim was a narrow trail leading to the south shore of Pine Tree Lake, a body of water quarter of a mile wide by three-quarters of a mile long. In the middle of the lake was a long narrow island, on which grew a magnificent pine tree, which gave to the lake its name. "Looks almost good enough to take a swim in," remarked Dale, as they came out on the lake shore. "I dare you to take a plunge," said Owen. "Done!" was the reply. "I don't take a dare from anybody." "Let us take a look at the lodge first," went on Owen. They could see the place, but a short distance away, standing on something of a bluff. At the edge of the bluff was a set of steps running to a tiny wharf, on which was built a boathouse. The lodge was a low, rambling structure, built of logs and stone, with quaint carvings and curious casements. "It's queer he didn't build more of a city-looking house while he was spending his money," said Owen, as they came closer. "Oh, I guess he wanted something that looked like the backwoods, Owen. No doubt he gets tired of city life and city houses." There was no fence around the lodge, and they rode up the broad pathway, and then around the corner of the building. As they did this they saw a man disappear into the building through a window opening on a low porch. "Hullo!" cried Dale. "Who was that?" "It's queer he went through the window," returned Owen. "It was queer. Let us see who it was," went on Dale, and dismounted at the side of the porch. Then he went to the open window and peered inside, never dreaming of the surprise in store for him.