“I don’t care if it is a thousand. I am going there, if I live,” was the quick and decided reply. “If my guide will stick to me—and I know he will, for the colonel said so—I’ll make a success of this expedition, in spite of everything.” “You’re mighty right—I’ll stick to ye!” exclaimed Big Thompson; and, as he spoke, he advanced and extended a hand so large that Oscar’s sturdy palm—which was promptly placed within it—was almost hidden from view. “I never seen sich grit in a tenderfoot afore. Perfessor, ye kin swar by Big Thompson every time, an’ don’t ye never forgit it!” “Pilgrim,” said the ranchman, “you said something last night about credentials. Perhaps you wouldn’t take offence if I should ask you to produce them. We always like to know a little about strangers who pass through this country, claiming to be something grand.” “I don’t claim to be anything grand. I simply say that I have been sent out here to collect specimens of natural history for the Yarmouth University; and, if you don’t believe it, look at that!” exclaimed Oscar indignantly, at the same time handing out a letter signed by the president of the college and the secretary of the committee, under whose instructions he was working. “Probably you will say next that _I_ stole your old mule!” “Well, I _have_ yet something to say,” answered the ranchman, as he opened the letter; “and, when I say it, it will be to the point. You hear me?” These words were spoken in a very decided tone, and Oscar could not make up his mind whether the ranchman was angry or not. Sometimes he was sure he was, and then again he was equally sure he wasn’t. He was certainly acting very strangely, and so was Big Thompson, who, after his outburst of enthusiasm, relapsed into silence again, and now seemed to be utterly indifferent to all that was passing before him. He stood in front of the stove, with his head inclining a little forward, so that it might not come in contact with the rafters; and Oscar could not tell by the expression on his face whether it would be safe to depend on him for help in case of trouble between himself and the ranchman, or not. “Look here, professor,” said the latter, after he had read and returned Oscar’s credentials, “that’s my mule and wagon.” “Well, I don’t dispute it, do I? Take them and welcome.” “But look here, professor,” repeated the ranchman; “I’m a student myself—I haven’t brains enough to be a scholar—and I couldn’t think of throwing a straw in the way of those young fellows out there in Yarmouth, who want a museum to assist them in studying natural history; so, Thompson, you just go out and hitch up that mule; and, professor, you jump into the wagon and go on, and good-luck attend you.” Oscar was electrified. He could hardly believe that he was not dreaming. The only thing real about the whole proceeding was the tremendous grip the ranchman gave him as he said this. There was no dream about that.