Their furs, and the mule and wagon, were disposed of without the least trouble; and, out of the money he received, Tom gave Oscar two hundred dollars to be handed to Mr. Smith. It wasn’t much, Tom said, but still it would show the grocer that he intended to make all the amends in his power. Tom and the guide assisted him to pack his specimens, which were put into boxes and addressed to himself at Yarmouth, and placed in the freight wagon that was to convey them to the nearest railroad station. There was one thing that Oscar could not take back with him, greatly to his disappointment, and that was the fawn he had captured with the lasso. These little animals never live long in confinement, especially if they have been driven hard previous to their capture; and it had died during his absence. Lieutenant Warwick had seen to it that the skin was carefully preserved; but, as it had been taken off in the same manner that a butcher would remove the hide from a slaughtered ox, and was afterward tanned with the hair on, it was not of much value as a specimen. But then, somebody could make a rug of it, and so it was packed up to be taken to Eaton. At last, when everything was ready for the start, and the farewells had all been said, Tom set out for Ike Barker’s ranch, and Oscar stepped into the stage-coach. His heart was by no means as light as he had supposed it would be, for the pleasure he anticipated in once more shaking hands with his friends in Eaton was marred by the sorrow he felt at parting from those with whom he had so long been associated. But one thing was certain: the last few months of his life had not been wasted. He had earned money enough to lift the mortgage from the roof that sheltered his mother, and he had been able to assist Tom in his extremity. The latter was on the right track now, and Oscar fervently hoped that he would allow no temptations to switch him off. Sam Hynes, warned by a telegram which Oscar sent from Albany, met the returned hunter at the depot, and stuck to him night and day during the week he spent in Eaton, where everybody made a lion of him. His mother, of course, was overjoyed to meet him, and listened with a beating heart to what he had to say in regard to Tom, who, during the rest of his life on the plains, was the regular recipient of something that did much to sustain and encourage him in his efforts to reform—a mother’s letters. That week passed all too quickly for Oscar, who, at the end of it, was once more obliged to tear himself away from home and go to work. He had months of it before him, too, for the specimens he had secured were all to be stuffed and mounted. He was almost overwhelmed by the attentions he received on every hand. It was not long before everybody in the city knew who he was and what he had done; at least it seemed so, for everybody stared at him on the streets, and Oscar finally began to wish that he was back in the foot-hills, out of sight.