CHAPTER XXXVII.

BIG THOMPSON’S HUNTING DOG.

“Well, I declare, Oscar! How nicely you are situated, and how well you live!”

Tom Preston gave a sigh of satisfaction as he settled back on his elbow and put down his cup, after taking a refreshing drink of the strong, hot coffee.

He lay upon a comfortable bed, beside a roaring fire; and his foot, which bore an ugly looking wound, had just been dressed with some soothing liniment.

Beside him, on the floor, was the best dinner he had eaten for many a day, consisting of juicy venison steaks, corn-bread, canned fruit, and pickles.

He and Oscar had been at home about twenty-four hours, and the cabin was wearing its old-time look again. The specimens and skins were all there, so were the saddles and bridles, and Oscar’s breech loader rested in its accustomed place over the door.

Everything the wolfer had stolen had been recovered except the small portion of bacon he had eaten in his camp in the upper end of the valley; and there was, also, one thing there he did not steal—at least from Oscar—that was his rifle.

At first the young hunter did not know whether to take the weapon home with him or not, for he had no desire that the wolfer should starve for want of means to procure food. But Tom insisted on it, and Oscar at last yielded to his wishes.

“He’s as treacherous as the wolf he hunts,” declared Tom, “and if you leave him that rifle, he will surely waylay you and use it against you. Take it by all means. It will help pay for the skins and blanket he has stolen from me. You needn’t be afraid that he will starve. Nearly all the fresh meat we have had this winter I caught in my snares, and he can get some in the same way. We will leave him his pony, so that he can get his spelter to the settlement in the spring, and that is all we will do for him.”

The return journey had been accomplished without any mishap. The mule led the way, carrying the pack. Tom came next, riding Big Thompson’s pony, and Oscar brought up the rear on foot.

They spent the first night in the wolfer’s abandoned camp, arriving at the cabin about noon on the following day.

They could not travel faster on account of Tom’s injuries. The wound in his foot was very painful, and he was black and blue all over from the beating the wolfer had given him; but his tongue was all right, and he kept it going incessantly.

He gave his brother a truthful account of his wanderings, which we do not repeat here because it has nothing to do with our narrative; and the stories he told of his partner’s tyranny, and the description he gave of the sufferings he experienced while he was alone in camp, made Oscar wish most heartily that he had used something besides a switch on the wolfer.

He told how he had tried to injure his brother because he envied him in his prosperity, but Oscar would not allow him to dwell upon that.

He knew all about it, he said; it was all past and gone, and they would not make themselves unhappy by referring to it, or even thinking of it again.

He said everything he could to strengthen Tom’s resolutions of amendment, and had the satisfaction of knowing, in after years, that the severe lessons the latter had received during his sojourn among the hills had not been thrown away upon him.

For a week or two the brothers kept a constant watch for the wolfer; and, if he had come near that camp again, he would have met with the warmest kind of a reception. But he had already put a good many miles between himself and that valley, and Tom and Oscar never saw him again.

Everything went smoothly with them after that. Tom’s foot healed rapidly, and in a few days he was able to get about and do his share of work in the cabin, which he kept as neat as a new pin.

The stolen traps were again doing duty at the brook; and Oscar, without saying a word to his brother about it, every day laid by a portion of the skins he took from them, to be sold for Tom’s benefit.

It would be hard work for the latter to begin his new life with empty hands, and it would perhaps encourage him to know that he had a few dollars to fall back upon in case of emergency.

As soon as he was able to ride to the brook without inconvenience, Tom put out a few deadfalls for himself, and it was not long before the skins he captured exceeded in value those the wolfer had stolen from him.

The weeks wore on, and finally Oscar began to look anxiously for Big Thompson. Every other day he and Tom rode down to the gorge to see if they could discover any signs of his approach, but they always came back disappointed.

The guide, however, was daily making long strides toward them, fully as impatient to see Oscar as the boy was to see him, and he arrived when he was least expected. One night, just after the supper table had been cleared away, he walked into the cabin, wrapped up in his soldier’s overcoat, and carrying his rifle and snow-shoes over his shoulder.

Oscar sprang to meet him; and the greeting that passed between them gave Tom some idea of the strength of the affection they cherished for each other.

“Who’s that thar?” demanded the guide, when his eyes fell upon the new occupant of the cabin.

“That’s my brother,” replied Oscar. “Tom, this is my guide, of whom you have often heard me speak.”

Tom arose and extended his hand, but the guide pretended that he did not see it. He put his rifle and snow-shoes in one corner of the cabin, and then turned and looked down at Tom.

“So yer the fine young feller as wanted to bust my pardner up, be ye?” said he sternly, while Tom grew a shade whiter as he noticed the expression that settled on the speaker’s face.

“Now, Thompson, that’s enough of that,” interrupted Oscar. “It was all settled long ago. Don’t say another word about it, for we want to forget it.”

“I’m amazin’ proud to hear it,” growled the guide. “But if ye can’t forgit it, an’ it aint settled nuther, an’ ye wan’t it should be settled——”

He finished the sentence by striking his clenched hand into his open palm.

“But I tell you it is settled!” exclaimed Oscar. “Sit down and don’t spoil a family reunion by showing your temper. Let us see how agreeable you can be. If you don’t, the next time I see you pursued by a grizzly, I’ll——”

“Say no more, perfessor,” said Big Thompson, the scowl instantly fading from his face. “Put it thar!”

“Excuse me,” answered Oscar, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Where are my letters and papers?”

The guide did not act as though he heard the question. He pulled his pipe from his pocket, and, after filling and lighting it with a brand from the fire, he drew a stool close to Oscar’s side and sat down.

“Now,” said he, “I’m all ready. Go on.”

“Go on with what?”

“I want to know jest everything that’s happened in this yere valley since I’ve b’en gone. An’ I say ag’in, go on.”

Oscar, who knew that it was of no use to oppose the guide when he had determined upon any particular course of action, began the story of his adventures, intending to hurry through with it as soon as he could, and make another demand on Big Thompson for the letters and papers he carried in his pocket; but, as he dwelt upon the exciting scenes through which he had so recently passed, he became interested, and, before he knew it, he was giving a spirited and graphic account of them.

Big Thompson kept his eyes fastened upon the boy’s face, listening so intently that he allowed his pipe to go out; and he almost jumped from his seat when Tom exclaimed, as Oscar was about winding up his story:

“You ought to have seen him, Thompson. He knocked Lish flatter than a pancake twice, and thrashed him until he wore a five-foot switch down to two. I lay there and saw it all.”

“Perfessor,” said the guide, whose astonishment and admiration knew no bounds, “did ye lick Lish in a fair rough an’ tumble?”

“I made him stop pounding my brother,” replied Oscar, “and I recovered everything he stole from us, into the bargain.”

“Perfessor,” repeated the guide, “put ’em thar! Put ’em both thar!”

But Oscar very wisely made all haste to put them somewhere else. He put them into his pockets, and the guide, not knowing any other way in which to express his hearty approval of his employer’s conduct, brought one of his huge hands down upon his knee with such force that the boy shook all over.

This action was taken as a declaration of hostilities by a formidable body guard the guide had brought with him. A shrill bark, followed by a series of growls that were meant to be very fierce, came from somewhere about Big Thompson’s person, and the next instant a very diminutive head, surmounted by a pair of fox-like ears and covered with hair so long that it almost concealed the knowing little eyes that glared upon him, suddenly appeared from between the buttons of the guide’s overcoat, and a row of sharp white teeth gleamed in the firelight.

Oscar started back with an exclamation of astonishment, while Tom and the guide gave vent to hearty peals of laughter.

“Perfessor,” said the latter, thrusting his hand inside his overcoat and drawing out the animal to which the head belonged, the smallest, homeliest specimen of a Scotch terrier that Oscar had ever seen, “that thar big elk is jest as good as skinned an’ stuffed already. I call him Pink, on account of the color of his ha’r—which is black. What do you think of him fur a huntin’ dog?”

“A hunting dog!” repeated Oscar, still more astonished. “Do you mean to tell me that you are going to catch that magnificent elk with such a miserable little——Humph! You can’t get a fair view of him without the aid of a microscope, and a fair-sized rat would scare him to death. Now hand out my mail.”

Big Thompson complied this time, and he had a good bundle of it, too, when it was all put together—papers from Eaton and Yarmouth, letters from his mother, Sam Hynes, and Leon Parker, others from Professor Potter and the committee, and the rest were from the officers of the fort, who praised him extravagantly for the courage he had exhibited in his encounter with the grizzly, the particulars of which they had heard from Big Thompson.

The papers were passed over to Tom, and Oscar also gave him all his letters to read, with the exception of two, addressed in a neat, feminine hand, which were put safely away in his pocket, only to be taken out again at intervals and read and reread until they were almost worn out.

The boys became silent after the letters appeared, for the news they contained made them homesick.

Big Thompson, finding that nothing more was to be got out of his employer that night, cooked and ate a hearty supper and went to bed, his little hunting dog curling himself up with him under the blankets.