The fire was built upon the opposite bank of the stream, which here ran across the main ravine to mingle its waters a few miles farther on with those of the Platte, and behind it was a clear space a dozen or more feet in diameter that served as the camp. Various well-known signs, which did not escape his quick eye, told Oscar that the camp had been occupied for several days, and yet nothing in the way of a shelter had been erected, the campers, no doubt, being fully satisfied with the protection afforded them by the overhanging cliff and the thick cluster of evergreens that grew at its base. And there were other things missing, too, which Oscar had never failed to see in every camp whose inmates had any respect for their health and comfort. The supply of wood was exhausted, and although there was an axe handy the campers had sat musing by the fire until it had almost burned itself out, being too lazy to chop a fresh supply of fuel. There was nothing in the shape of bed clothes in sight, or any provisions, or any packages that looked as though they might contain provisions; and the only cooking utensil to be seen was a battered and blackened coffee-pot, which lay on the edge of the brook, where it had stopped when its owner angrily kicked it out of his way. Having noted these evidences of the extreme poverty and utter shiftlessness of the campers, the young hunter turned his attention to the figure before the fire, who still stood and gazed at him as if he were spellbound. The boy was somewhat surprised at the result of his hurried observations, for he saw at once that the camper was not a born plainsman. Beyond a doubt he had known better times. His clothing, as well as a certain indefinable air and manner which are inseparable from those who have all their lives been accustomed to good society, loudly proclaimed these facts. He looked like a broken-down gentleman, but still there was something of the backwoods about him, too. A stiff hat that had once been black covered his long uncombed hair, and his clothing was all of the finest broadcloth, and cut in faultless style; but his trousers were worn in a pair of heavy cowhide boots, and a glaring red shirt-collar was turned down over the collar of his coat. He was young in years, but wore a full beard and mustache, the latter having been long and carefully cultivated, while the whiskers were of recent growth. Oscar took all these little points in at a glance, and was about to turn away with an apology for his intrusion, when something in the carriage of the head and the position assumed by the camper caused him to pause long enough to look him over a second time. He had never seen the face before, that was certain; but there was something about the form that seemed familiar to him. “It is nothing but a foolish notion of mine, of course,” said Oscar to himself, as he drew in the reins preparatory to turning his pony about. Then speaking aloud, he said: