At the end of half an hour he had got matters in such a shape that he could make an estimate of his losses. His rifle was gone from its place over the door, but the cartridges that belonged to it were all there. The thief had not taken them, because he did not know how to manage a breech loader; and he had carried off the rifle in order to put it out of Oscar’s power to follow him and recover his property by force of arms. A good portion of the bacon and crackers was missing, but the cans containing the condensed milk and preserved fruits were none of them gone. The robber did not know what they were. The saddles, bridles, both his blankets, all his cherished specimens, and every one of the skins he and the guide had trapped had disappeared; but the wolfer had not wantonly destroyed anything, and Oscar was very thankful for that. This forbearance on his part was all owing to his wholesome fear of Big Thompson. If Lish had known that his dreaded enemy was more than forty miles from the valley, and increasing the distance at every step, he would have taken more time to select his plunder; and his desire to be revenged upon Oscar for something the boy never did might have led him to burn all that he could not carry away. Having put everything that was left in its place, Oscar threw a few sticks of wood on the fire, drew a stool up beside it, and sat down to think over the events of the day; but an instant afterward he jumped to his feet, placed the stool in front of the door, stepped upon it, thrust his hand into the space between the roof and the topmost log, and could scarcely repress a shout of exultation when his hand come in contact with something wrapped in a piece of deer-skin. “The thief didn’t get this, anyway,” he said, as he drew the stool back to the fire. “If I had had it in my hands when I first saw his ugly head sticking in at the door, I don’t know whether he would have had so easy a time in robbing the cabin or not.” As Oscar spoke, he unwrapped the deer-skin and brought to light a silver-mounted revolver and two boxes of cartridges. When he first came into the hills, he had always been in the habit of carrying the weapon with him on his hunting excursions; but, having seen how handy it was to have something else in his belt when it became necessary to build a fire in the woods or to cut a drag, he had put the revolver carefully away, and carried a hatchet instead. While Oscar sat holding the weapon in his hand, an idea suddenly suggested itself to him—one that caused him the most intense excitement, and led him to believe that his affairs were not in so desperate a state after all.