He had already begun to look around for it, when he was startled almost out of his moccasins by the report of a rifle, which sounded close at hand, followed by a tremendous crashing in the bushes, as a fine doe broke cover and dashed down a hill a short distance away. Lish could easily have shot her, as she passed without seeing him; but he never thought of it. His whole mind was concentrated on something else. Who fired that gun? Being determined to find out, the wolfer ran to the edge of the bluff and looked over. “That thar letter that Tom writ an’ put on to Ike Barker’s door didn’t stop ’em, arter all,” said Lish to himself, as he stretched his long neck out to its full length, and took a good survey of the hunter below him. “Here’s one of them pizen critters now. He’s gone an’ killed my black-tail, an’ now he’s a-yellin’ for Big Thompson. So ye’re the chap as wanted to have me put into the guard-house ag’in, be ye? Fur two cents I’d——” The wolfer finished the sentence by drawing his rifle to his shoulder, as if he were about to shoot. After taking a good aim at Oscar’s head he lowered the weapon and looked nervously about him, at the same time listening for Big Thompson’s reply. He wanted to see which way it came from, so that he could secure his own safety by running off in another direction. But there was no answer to Oscar’s repeated calls, and the wolfer finally mustered up courage enough to start for camp, not forgetting to stop on the way and take down the bundle of skins he had left in the tree. Hearing nothing of his dreaded enemy, his fears left him after a while, and he was able to think the matter over and make up his mind what he would do about it. One thing was certain—he dared not remain longer in that valley, for there was no knowing at what moment he and Big Thompson might run against each other in the woods. In order to avoid that it was necessary to break camp at once and start for new hunting grounds. “I won’t tell Tom who them fellers is,” thought the wolfer as he neared his camp, “for if I do he’ll run off and jine ’em. Now whar is he, do ye reckon? He’s allers off when he’s wanted to hum.” Tom, having completed his morning’s drudgery, had gone out to visit the baits he had scattered around the day before, and he did not come in until it was almost dark. Lish waited and watched for him with no little impatience, constantly harassed by the fear that Tom would somehow discover that his brother was in the valley, in which case he knew that he would be obliged to pass the rest of the winter alone, doing all his own work about the camp, and catching all his own skins. Tom was too valuable an assistant to be given up, and the wolfer resolved to hold fast to him as long as he could. Tom came in at last, staggering under the weight of his day’s catch, and was instantly put on his guard by the friendly greeting his partner extended to him.