Rude as the bed was, after he had got it made up, it looked inviting, and he lost no time in tumbling into it. But he did not fall asleep at once, as he had expected he would, for his mind was too busy with the events of the day. The ranchman and Big Thompson drew their boxes in front of the stove, smoked their pipes, and, without taking the trouble to ascertain whether or not the boy was asleep, discussed him and his affairs with the utmost freedom. The guide was talkative enough now, and Oscar wondered if he would use his tongue as freely when they were alone in the hills. “Who is this young fellow, anyhow?” was the ranchman’s first question. “Oh, he’s one of them thar crazy loons who aint got nothin’ better to do than tramp about the country, an’ ketch all sorts of critters, an’ stuff ’em full of hay or something,” said Big Thompson. And the tone in which the reply was made led Oscar to believe that the guide had anything but an exalted opinion of a boy who could pass his time in that way. “Then he really is a taxidermist, is he?” “Which?” exclaimed Big Thompson. “I mean that he is what he pretends to be?” “I reckon. They called him a college-sharp down to the post; an’ the kurn, he took him in the minute he came thar, an’ treated him like he was a little juke, or one of them thar nobby fellers from across the water. If it hadn’t been fur the kurn, ye wouldn’t ’a’ ketched me here with him.” Oscar might have heard much more of this sort of talk if he had chosen to listen; but, as he was not in the habit of playing eavesdropper, he turned his face to the wall, drew the blankets over his head, and composed himself to sleep. Early the next morning he was awakened by the banging of the stove-lids, and started up, to find his host busy with his preparations for breakfast. He wished the boy a hearty good-morning, but he did not have anything of importance to say to him until the meal was over, and Oscar, arising from his seat, pulled out his pocket-book. “How much do I owe you, Mr. Barker?” said he. “Look here, professor,” replied the ranchman, with a smile, “after you have been in this country a little longer, you will know better than to ask a question like that.” “Very well,” said Oscar, who knew what that meant. “I am greatly obliged to you for your hospitality. Now, I can’t take my outfit with me; and I ask you again if I can hire you to take it back to the fort for me?” “And I tell you again that you can’t,” was the blunt, almost rude, reply. “Well, will you take it for nothing—just to accommodate me?” “No, I won’t.” “Very well,” said Oscar again. “Then I shall have to abandon the most of it right here. Thompson, come out to the wagon and select such things as you think we ought to take with us.” “Are you going to walk to the foot-hills?” asked the ranchman, with an amused twinkle in his eye that made Oscar angry. “The valley to which Thompson intended to take you is all of a hundred miles from here.”