The young Texan’s life during the next few days was in striking contrast with what had gone immediately before. He had a confused recollection of sinking to rest on a comfortable bed, in a room filled with the forms of animals--elk, deer, bears and smaller creatures, all in most lifelike poses. There were even some shaggy buffaloes in a perfect state of preservation. In small glass cases were groups of insects, and there were some giant trout on the wall, evidently taken from near-by lakes, or from the alluring stream which ran close to the cabin. Bertram’s recovery, under the ministrations of Uncle Billy and Alma Caldwell, was rapid. In a few days he was able to walk about the place. The inflammation left his shoulder and his strength returned to him, as it always returns to healthy youth in the great outdoors. The old naturalist proved a delight to Bertram, and he was both expert and gentle in applying surgical dressings. Alma accounted for his skill by explaining that he had studied to be a surgeon. “But he had no real taste for the profession,” said the girl. “What he wanted was to live close to the heart of nature, to study wild life at its source. So he moved here, when the rest of the family came, and, after a few years of ranching, gave up everything else and settled down in this little place in the mountains, determined to follow out his ambition.” The girl had ridden over to Uncle Billy’s place from the Caldwell ranch, and she was walking about in the bright sunshine, while the Texan stood in front of the naturalist’s cabin. “Well, I can testify that if Uncle Billy had turned surgeon he would have made a success of his calling,” said Bertram, stretching his arms above his head, in the joy that a strong man feels when convalescent. “He’s fixed me up more quickly than I would have thought possible. Your fighting cousin’s bullet, it seems, just nicked the top of a lung. Luckily it drilled me clean and did not shatter a bone, or I might have been on Uncle Billy’s hospital list a long time.” “This was the only place to bring you,” said Alma. “The one practicing physician and surgeon in this part of the State lives twenty miles from where you were hurt, and he had taken his rifle and joined the men who were opposing the invaders. I couldn’t have taken you to any ranch house without your presence being known elsewhere, on account of all this excitement. Neighbors are visiting everywhere, and any one who had sheltered a stranger at this time would have come in for general suspicion. But, unless somebody deliberately sets out to trail you, no one will be likely to know you are at this place. It is known that Uncle Billy is opposed to the taking of human life, and that he could not be enlisted in this dispute on either side.”