Tim returned, carrying our blankets and the food bag. He was gasping for breath.

“Sit down, Tim.”

“No, I’ll go back for the rest. The wind’s coming up. The snow’s drifting again.”

He was right, so I didn’t argue. I continued my inventory of the cabin. There was a single-barrel shotgun hanging from two nails but no shells. I found two empty cases for 12-gauge shells, red cardboard tubes, but they had already been fired. I sniffed at them; I have always liked the smell of gunpowder.

An old apple crate under one of the bunks was filled with steel traps, small ones used for muskrat and beaver. There were stretching boards hand-carved from soft pine. In another box, wrapped in oiled paper, I came across a handsome hunting knife. It was razor sharp. I wrapped it up again and put it back. The trapper would not be pleased to learn that we had been fingering through all his possessions. He could not begrudge us the few provisions we ate, or the firewood we burned, for the law of the woods says that your cabin should offer sanctuary to those who are lost. It was our obligation not to steal his valuables or do malicious damage.

I found some Mason jars. To my joy, one contained cakes of dried yeast. I would be able to make bread, or at least biscuits. There was no butter, but a can of lard was about half full. I found two pounds of coffee beans and near them, five large cans of condensed milk. I would be able to make milk gravy to go with the turkey! It was enough to set me off to sniffling again.

Naturally, that is the moment Tim returned with the rest of our gear. He gave me a disgusted look, and set about unpacking the hastily tied bundles. He and I hung the damp blankets over a rope that stretched from one end of the cabin to the other and added our soggy outer clothing. The chill was gone from the room now, and we could be comfortable in just our shirts and jeans.

“There’s a rack of at least twenty cords of firewood outside,” Tim told me. “The trapper must plan to spend the winter here.”

“Maybe he’ll see the smoke from the chimney and come to see what’s up,” I said.

“He won’t get mad at us, will he?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “From the way he lives, I would say that he is a careful and prudent man. He’ll understand our predicament.”

Tim looked around. “It’s nice to be inside.”

I had been thinking the same thing. The walls were somehow confining, though, used as we were to letting our eyes seek the horizon.

“Did you see anything to carry water in?” I asked. It was no fun melting snow. The effort involved was more than the result was worth.

“There’s a bucket outside,” he said.