“I’ve got him at last, thanks to you, Thompson,” said Oscar, as he leaned on his rifle and looked down at the fallen monarch. “In all my collection there is but one specimen that I value more highly than this one, and that is the grizzly. Pink, you’re a brick, and I’ll never make sport of you again.” The dog evidently did not appreciate the compliment, or else he did not put any faith in the promise; for, when Oscar attempted to lay his hand on his head, the little animal backed away and growled savagely at him. Tom presently came up with the mule, and, in two hours more, the new specimen had been carried to the cabin and Oscar was hard at work upon it. This was Oscar’s last notable exploit among the foot-hills. Of course the sport did not end with the shooting of the monarch elk, for there were still many animals in the valley that were not represented in his collection, and Oscar’s efforts to secure them were not always unattended by danger. He kept on adding to his specimens, and now and then he did something in a quiet way that made him feel good for a week. One of these achievements was the bagging of the wolverine which had so often robbed his traps. The animal was fairly outdone in cunning, and knocked over when he did not know that there was an enemy near him. The rest of the winter was passed in much the same way as were the days whose incidents we have so minutely described. The hunters devoted a good deal of their time to trapping, and their pile of skins grew larger every day. The traditional January thaw came at last, and set the eaves to dropping and the brook to running for a few days; and then Jack Frost reasserted his power, and shut everything up tight again. Many a hard storm roared through the valley after that, but the weather gradually grew warmer, the snow melted slowly away, and finally the grass began to appear in the sunniest places, and the drifts to look as though the wind had scattered dust over them. It was no longer necessary to cut down trees for the pony and mule to feed upon. They preferred the withered grass to the innutritious buds and twigs of the cottonwood, and the change in their diet soon began to make a change in their appearance and spirits. Spring was coming, but so slowly that Oscar grew tired of waiting for it. It seemed as though the deep drifts in the gorge would never melt away; and when they did, a roaring torrent, which showed no indications of drying up, took their place. The grass in the valley was seen before the gorge was passable. The day of their deliverance was close at hand, however, and one bright morning the guide aroused the slumbering boys by shouting out the order to “catch up.” This meant to cook and eat the breakfast, saddle the pony, and hitch the mule to the wagon, which had for days been loaded and ready for the start. These duties consumed but little of their time, for all three worked as if they were in a great hurry.