“I hid ’em kase I aint a-goin’ to have ye slip inter the camp when I aint here, an’ go off to find yer brother.” “If my brother was anywhere within reach of me it would take a better man than you to keep me here,” was the thought that passed through Tom’s mind. But he knew better than to give utterance to it. “Thar don’t none of them pelts b’long to ye, an’ I don’t want ye to fergit it, nuther!” exclaimed Lish. “Ye haven’t pizened a dozen varmints since we come to this yere place.” “That’s because I can’t do all the work about camp and put out baits too,” replied Tom. “If you will cut the wood I’ll do the cooking and catch as many skins as you do into the bargain.” “Yer so powerful lazy yer don’t ’arn yer salt,” said the wolfer, paying no attention to this proposition. “Now I’ll jest tell ye what’s a fact. If ye don’t mind yer own business an’ let mine be I’ll lay that hickory over yer head till ye see more’n a hundred stars. Ye hear me? I’ll put it here in this corner, so’s to have it handy. Ye’ve been a-spilin’ for a trouncin’, an’ I’m jest the feller to give it to ye.” Tom drew a long breath of relief, but made no reply. He had been expecting something like this for a long time, and he was glad to know that his punishment was to be postponed for a few hours at least. He did not go near the skins again (if he had he would not have found them in the tree, for they had been removed to other and safer quarters), but gave all his time to his camp duties and to keeping Lish supplied with fresh meat, which the latter was sure to call for every night and morning. Tom’s object was to put off the day of his “trouncin’” as long as he possibly could. One afternoon, about two weeks after the occurrence of the events we have just described, Tom had the misfortune to cut his foot while he was chopping wood. The wound would have been considered a serious one under any circumstances, but situated as he was it became positively dangerous. Lacking the forethought as well as the means to provide for such accidents as this, he had brought no bandages or liniment with him, and all he could do was to pull off his boot, apply some ice-cold water—which was about the worst thing he could have put on it—wrap the injured member up in one of his extra shirts, and crawl to his bed under the lean-to. Lish swore loudly when he came in. He fairly surpassed all his previous efforts in this line; and one, to have heard the abuse he heaped upon the head of his unfortunate partner, would have supposed that Tom had been guilty of some great crime. The wolfer now had to cook for himself and cut his own wood. A short experience must have disgusted him with this sort of work; for, on the third morning after the accident, Tom awoke from a troubled slumber to find his last blanket and his partner missing. If it had not been for the fact that the pony was standing near the dying embers of the fire, he would have believed that Lish had deserted him in his trouble.