Little Rifle struck off homeward, like one who feels that he has little time at his disposal. After walking full a mile, he struck another stream smaller than the first and which was a tributary to the one he had just left. The banks were made up principally of rocks and gravel, over which it was very easy to pass, without leaving any trail behind. The lad made his way over these, with the care of a veteran hunter and at length stepped down between two rocks, that towered fully twenty feet from the ground. Between them was a passage of about a rod in width, which gradually narrowed as he advanced, until he was checked by what seemed an insuperable obstruction; but this in reality was the cabin, the “home,” toward which he had been journeying. It was made with very little regard to “style;” the rocks themselves afforded the rear, and two sides. The roof was constructed by laying saplings and branches across the top and covering them with leaves and twigs to such a depth that they afforded an impervious protection against the inclemency of the weather. The interior was divided into two apartments, the partition being formed, mainly like the front, of buffalo and bear-skins, firmly fastened to poles. Thus a secure and comfortable retreat was afforded, no matter how great the cold might be. Within were piles of the richest and choicest furs, including those of the beaver, otter, fox, marten, bear and buffalo. Some of these were exceedingly valuable, being rich, glossy and of velvety softness; for Old Robsart was as thorough a trapper as he was a hunter, and he had a collection of peltries already secured, that, when put in the market at San Francisco, would bring him a little fortune in its way. The furs were all the best of their kind, for he was too good a connoisseur to accept any of a second-rate quality. Many a time, he took the beaver out of the trap, examined him a moment, and then let him go in peace, until he could get in better condition, by which time, also, the sagacious animal was sure to be cute enough to keep clear of all contrivances intended to entrap him, all of which Old Robsart could not fail to know, but which did not affect his line of conduct, as there were surely a thousand times more fur bearing creatures in the North-west, than a regiment of trappers like him could hope to capture. No fire was ever kindled within this primitive home; for these downy furs kept so much of the natural heat of the body that the most cold-blooded need not be uncomfortable. The fire needed for cooking purposes was always made somewhere else. Little Rifle’s anxiety now was to see whether his friend and patron was at home before him. Knowing that there was always a possibility of some treacherous red-skin lying in wait, in the cabin, he paused when some distance away, and gave utterance to a sort of whistle that was always used as a signal between him and his friend. To his delight, this signal was instantly answered from within the cabin.