He gave his brother a truthful account of his wanderings, which we do not repeat here because it has nothing to do with our narrative; and the stories he told of his partner’s tyranny, and the description he gave of the sufferings he experienced while he was alone in camp, made Oscar wish most heartily that he had used something besides a switch on the wolfer. He told how he had tried to injure his brother because he envied him in his prosperity, but Oscar would not allow him to dwell upon that. He knew all about it, he said; it was all past and gone, and they would not make themselves unhappy by referring to it, or even thinking of it again. He said everything he could to strengthen Tom’s resolutions of amendment, and had the satisfaction of knowing, in after years, that the severe lessons the latter had received during his sojourn among the hills had not been thrown away upon him. For a week or two the brothers kept a constant watch for the wolfer; and, if he had come near that camp again, he would have met with the warmest kind of a reception. But he had already put a good many miles between himself and that valley, and Tom and Oscar never saw him again. Everything went smoothly with them after that. Tom’s foot healed rapidly, and in a few days he was able to get about and do his share of work in the cabin, which he kept as neat as a new pin. The stolen traps were again doing duty at the brook; and Oscar, without saying a word to his brother about it, every day laid by a portion of the skins he took from them, to be sold for Tom’s benefit. It would be hard work for the latter to begin his new life with empty hands, and it would perhaps encourage him to know that he had a few dollars to fall back upon in case of emergency. As soon as he was able to ride to the brook without inconvenience, Tom put out a few deadfalls for himself, and it was not long before the skins he captured exceeded in value those the wolfer had stolen from him. The weeks wore on, and finally Oscar began to look anxiously for Big Thompson. Every other day he and Tom rode down to the gorge to see if they could discover any signs of his approach, but they always came back disappointed. The guide, however, was daily making long strides toward them, fully as impatient to see Oscar as the boy was to see him, and he arrived when he was least expected. One night, just after the supper table had been cleared away, he walked into the cabin, wrapped up in his soldier’s overcoat, and carrying his rifle and snow-shoes over his shoulder. Oscar sprang to meet him; and the greeting that passed between them gave Tom some idea of the strength of the affection they cherished for each other. “Who’s that thar?” demanded the guide, when his eyes fell upon the new occupant of the cabin. “That’s my brother,” replied Oscar. “Tom, this is my guide, of whom you have often heard me speak.”