In amazement, the Hardy boys and their chums stared at the cottage that had so strangely appeared in the snow.

“How did that get here?” shouted Chet Morton.

Frank waved his hand toward the top of the cliff.

“There was a little cottage up there,” he told them. “It must have been blown off by the wind.”

This, indeed, had been the case. Sheltered by the cliff, the boys had no adequate realization of the immense force of the hurricane. The little cottage at the top of the cliff had received the full brunt of the wind and had finally succumbed to the gale and to the force of a sudden avalanche of snow from farther up on the hillside. It had no foundation, and it had been swept away bodily.

The boys fought their way through the deep snow and inspected the little house. It had come through the terrific ordeal with surprisingly small damage. One side had crumpled under the force of the impact and the building was canted over at a precarious angle. But the roof and the other three sides were unbroken, thanks to the soft snow which had lessened the shock of the fall.

“There must be someone inside,” Joe said. “Someone was shouting for help.”

Frank found the door of the cottage and tried to open it, but it was jammed, as the house was not standing upright. Then he discovered a window, the glass of which was shattered, and with assistance from the others he made his way inside.

The interior of the place was wrecked. In the dim light Frank could see the broken boards and shattered timbers, the broken glass, the upturned stove, the smashed furniture⁠—but there was no sign of any human being.

“Doesn’t seem to be anyone here,” he called out to the others.

Just then he heard a sigh. It came from beneath an upturned cot at one side of the room. He investigated and saw a hand emerging from beneath the cot. In a few minutes he had raised the small bed and found an old man lying face downward on the floor.

“Help me out!” muttered the old man feebly.

Frank called to the others, and one by one they came scrambling through the window. Together, they raised the old man to his feet and set him down on the cot, which they turned to an upright position again. Painfully, the old fellow rubbed his aching joints.

“No bones broken,” he said, at last. “I’m lucky I wasn’t killed.”

“You might have been crushed to death,” Frank interposed.

“It’s lucky you boys were near,” he said. “I’d have frozen to death if I’d been left pinned under that cot. I mightn’t have been found for days. But it takes a lot to kill Jadbury Wilson. I guess my time ain’t come yet.”

The old man looked around and smiled feebly at the lads. He was small but sturdy of frame, with kindly blue eyes and a gray beard.

“I’ve often thought it was dangerous to live in a place at the top of a cliff like that,” he said. “There’ve been times when the wind was so strong I was afraid it would pick up my house and lift it clean out into the lake. But, somehow, it always stood up until today. It all came so suddenly I hardly knew what was happenin’. Mighty good thing the house landed right side up. How did you lads come to be near by?”

“We were on a skating trip and we got caught in the storm,” Frank told him. “We took refuge at the foot of the cliff and we were standing there when we heard the crash. Then we heard someone call.”

“That was me. I didn’t think there was any use of hollerin’, but I hollered just the same, although I didn’t think there was a human soul within three miles.”

Jadbury Wilson got up off the cot, but subsided back with a groan of pain.

“I got banged and bumped around too much,” he said. “Thought I’d get busy and try to straighten things up around here.”

“We’ll do that,” said Jerry Gilroy promptly.

“Everythin’s pretty well smashed up,” observed the old man. “But you could mebbe fix up the stove so it would work again. Looks as if we’re all here to stay until the storm blows over.”

The boys made Jadbury Wilson comfortable on his cot and then they set to work to restore some semblance of order to the interior of the little cabin. They managed to patch up openings in the walls through which the snow was drifting, and although one side of the cottage had collapsed completely there was still sufficient room in which to move about. They nailed a tarpaulin over the broken window, righted the table and chairs and picked up the tin dishes that were scattered about on the floor. The stove gave them most trouble, but they were able to set the stovepipe up again and light a fire so that before long a comfortable warmth began to pervade the interior of their shelter.

Jadbury Wilson, lying on the cot, approved of their efforts.

“We’re in out of the storm, anyway,” he said. “That’s the main thing. And from the sound of that wind, it ain’t as yet dyin’ down any.”

Frank Hardy drew aside the tarpaulin and looked out. It was dark now, and with nightfall the blizzard seemed to have increased in volume. The wind beat against the sides of the cabin, the snow swished madly against the roof.

“We’re marooned here for the night,” he told his chums.

“It could be worse,” remarked Joe. “We’re lucky to be under cover.”

“I’ll say we are,” declared Chet. “Might as well make the best of it.”

“How about eating?” demanded Jerry.

“You’ll find tea and bread and bacon in the cupboard,” said Jadbury Wilson. “I’m feelin’ sort of hungry myself.”

The boys rummaged about in the cupboard, which was undamaged, and found provisions. The water had been spilled, but Frank melted some snow on the stove and after a while had the kettle boiling. The fragrant smell of frying bacon pervaded the cabin and in due time supper was served, all doing full justice to the meal. Afterward, they washed the dishes and set about making themselves comfortable for the night.

Jadbury Wilson possessed but the one narrow cot, so the boys saw they would be obliged to sleep on the floor of the cabin. However, the old man had plenty of blankets, and it was decided to have each lad stand watch for two hours in order to keep the fire going. In spite of the fact that the bitter wind swept through chinks and crannies in the cabin walls, the place was comfortably warm, the fire radiating a good heat in the confined space.

Jadbury Wilson was disconsolate.

“Troubles never seem to come one at a time,” he groaned, lying on the cot. “This is the finishin’ touch.”

“Have you been having bad luck, Mr. Wilson?” asked Frank, sympathetically.

“I’ve had nothin’ but bad luck for more’n a year past now. This is the worst blow yet. I’ll never be able to put this house back on the cliff again.”

“Oh, perhaps it isn’t as bad as that,” said Joe cheerfully. “You might have been badly hurt. There’s that to be thankful for.”

“I suppose you’re right, lad. I suppose you’re right. I ought to be glad I’m still alive. But when you’re gettin’ old and poor and you ain’t able to work like you’ve been used to and everythin’ seems to be goin’ against you, it ain’t so easy to keep cheerful.”

The old man seemed so downhearted that the boys did their best to console him, but this final disaster to his humble cottage had proved a hard blow. He lacked the resiliency and optimism of youth.

“There was a time when I should have been worth lots of money,” he told the boys. “And if I had my rights I ought to be worth lots of money today. But here I am, with not many years ahead of me, livin’ away out here alone in a little two-by-twice cabin, and now the wind has to come along and blow it into the lake. It don’t seem fair, somehow.”

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Wilson?” asked Chet Morton.

“I’ve been doin’ a bit of trappin’ and huntin’ lately,” the old man replied. “Most of my life I’ve been a miner. I’ve traveled all over the country.”

The boys were at once interested.

“A miner, were you?”

“Yep. I’ve been in Montana and Nevada in the early days.”

At mention of Montana the Hardy boys glanced at one another. Jadbury Wilson did not seem to notice.

“I’ve been in the Klondike in the rush of ninety-eight and I’ve been up in Cobalt and the Porcupine, too. Made a little money here and there, but somehow somethin’ always happened to keep me out of the big winnin’s. If I had my rights I ought to be worth plenty. But it’s too late now,” he sighed. “It’s too late for me to start out on the trails again. I ain’t young enough now.”

The boys were sorry for the old man, but after a while he was quiet and soon his heavy breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep.

“I hope Aunt Gertrude and mother aren’t worrying too much,” said Frank, as he prepared to undertake first watch.

“It can’t be helped,” said Joe, wrapping his blanket around him. “We’ll be able to get back tomorrow.”

“We might take the old man with us,” Chet suggested sleepily. “He is pretty well bruised and battered, and he won’t be able to live here until the cabin is fixed up again.”

“That’s a good idea.” Frank put another stick of wood in the stove. “You have next watch, Chet. May as well get all the sleep you can.”

In a few minutes there was scarcely a sound in the cottage save the crackling of the fire. The timbers of the building creaked and groaned as the night wind hurled itself against the fragile shelter. Snow slashed against the roof. Frank Hardy shivered. He was glad they had obtained even this refuge from the blizzard.