“Why, perfessor!” he exclaimed with some anxiety, as he gazed into the boy’s pale face; “what’s the matter of ye? Thar aint no color into ye at all.” “I don’t wonder that I look white,” panted Oscar. “I never before was so badly frightened. I haven’t a particle of strength. I thought you were a goner, sure.” “Me too,” said Big Thompson cheerfully. “I must say that you took it very coolly. You didn’t show the least fear. Your face isn’t white.” “Wal, arter ye have been knocked about the mountains an’ prairies, an’ been snowed an’ rained an’ blowed on as often as I have, ye won’t show much white neither,” was the reply. “Of all the tenderfeet I ever seed yer the best. Put it thar!” Oscar complied, and an instant afterward made the firm resolution that if he ever again did his guide a service he would not shake hands on the strength of it. The hunter’s long, bony fingers closed over his palm with almost crushing force, and it was a long time before he forgot the terrible shaking up that followed. This was Big Thompson’s way of showing his gratitude. “Now,” continued the latter, as he resumed the search for the stock of his rifle, “thar’s nigh on to a thousand pound of bone an’ muscle into that thar feller, an’ it would take us a week to drag him to the shanty; so I say let’s camp here till ye fix him up for stuffin’. We aint got no blankets, but we’ve both got hatchets, an’ firewood is plenty.” Oscar was only too glad to give his consent to this arrangement. He was so weak from fright that the bare thought of walking to the cabin made him feel as though he wanted to sit down and take a long rest. Big Thompson evidently understood just how he felt, for he straightway proceeded to strip the boughs from some of the evergreens that stood close by, and when he had piled these boughs under the overhanging rock he seated Oscar upon them. After that he rolled the bear upon a drag, drew it up under the rock, and having started a roaring fire, picked up his employer’s breech loader and went out to shoot something for supper. “Ye needn’t be oneasy, kase I shan’t go fur away,” said he as he was about to set off. “I don’t reckon ye feel so pert as usual arter seein’ Ole Eph with his dander riz, so I’ll kinder keep within shootin’ distance of ye.” Big Thompson disappeared in the grove, and Oscar, with that delicious feeling of relief and contentment which a weary traveller experiences when he reaches his comfortable home and sinks into his easy-chair after a long, tiresome, and dangerous journey, settled back on his fragrant couch and feasted his eyes on the grizzly. He was like a boy with his first pair of skates—he could look at nothing else. CHAPTER XXX. OSCAR HAS A VISITOR.