The wolfer was gone two whole days and a part of another, and when at last he came within sight of the camp he was followed by a very small pony, which fairly staggered under the weight of a huge pack he bore upon his back. Where he had been, and what he had been doing, of course Tom did not know; but he could see by the expression on his face that Lish was highly elated over something. He really looked good-natured. “Hello, pard!” he exclaimed as he came to a halt in front of the lean-to. “How ye makin’ it by this time? If we aint struck it rich now we never will! That thar pony is jest loaded down with jest the finest lot of——” Lish stopped and looked about him, evidently not at all pleased with the gloomy appearance of things. A few green boughs sputtered on the fire, giving out a dense smoke, but no flame; Tom was flat on his back, just as he had left him, and there was no dinner waiting for him. “Why didn’t ye get me nothin’ to eat?” demanded Lish. “Why didn’t you send a messenger on ahead to tell me that you were coming?” replied Tom, driven almost desperate by the pain of his wound, which was growing worse, in spite of the best care he could give it. “Wal, ye see me here now, don’t ye?” retorted Lish. “Git up from thar an’ make me a cup of coffee.” “I can’t; the coffee is all gone.” “Then give me a partridge an’ some bread!” commanded the wolfer, beginning to grow angry. “I can’t do that either. I haven’t been able to visit my snares since you went away, and there is not a crumb of cracker left.” “Thar aint?” shouted Lish, while an ominous light shone in his eyes. “An’ ye aint done nothin’ but lay thar an’ stuff yerself till our coffee an’ grub’s all gone! Git up from thar, I tell ye, an’ go out an’ ketch me a partridge!” “I can’t,” replied Tom, who, seeing that an outbreak was not very far distant, began to be terribly alarmed. “I can’t walk a step. You have no idea how I suffer all the time.” “’Taint nothin’ on ’arth but laziness that is the matter of ye!” said Lish as he laid down his rifle and picked up the switch. “If ye won’t move, I’ll have to move ye. Git up from thar! Git up, ye lazy wagabone, an’ git me sunthin’ to eat! Do ye reckon yer goin’ to git up?” These words were accompanied by a shower of blows, which fell upon Tom’s head and shoulders with such force that the sound of them could be, indeed _was_, heard a considerable distance away. If his life had depended upon it, poor Tom could not have maintained an upright position for half a minute. He had tried it often enough to know. Whenever he attempted it the blood rushed into his foot, causing him the most intense anguish. He could only lie there and make feeble, but unavailing, efforts to shield his face, which seemed to be the mark at which his tormentor aimed his blows. His shrieks of agony fell upon deaf ears, the wolfer having determined to beat him until he got upon his feet.