“Yes, I did think so,” said he, as he turned down his coat-collar and shook the snow-flakes from his cap. “All you did for me was to take that gun out of Ike Barker’s hands. After you had done that, you stood and looked on with the utmost indifference.” “Wal, no,” answered the guide slowly. “I heard every word he said to ye, an’ if I hadn’t knowed the man I might have jined in the talk ye had with him. But, ye see, I knowed him. I knowed the mu-el was his’n, kase he said so; but that didn’t pester me none, fur I was sartin that when he found out who ye was an’ all about ye, he wouldn’t make no furse about the critter. That’s why I kept my mouth shet. I knowed ye wasn’t in no danger.” Oscar and his guide were now fairly settled in their camp in the foot-hills; and if Leon Parker could have looked in upon them that stormy night he would have gone into ecstasies. Their journey from Ike Barker’s ranch had been accomplished without the occurrence of any incident worthy of note. The weather was all they could have desired, and Oscar and Big Thompson got on very well together. The guide no longer held himself aloof, as he did at the beginning of the journey. He admired the courage the boy had exhibited, and used his best endeavors to prove himself an agreeable and entertaining companion. The first thing he did was to take Oscar’s place in the wagon, and give the boy his pony to ride. They made rapid progress after that, for the mule was not long in finding out that in Big Thompson he had a driver who knew how to manage him. The guide had an almost inexhaustible fund of stories at his command, and enlivened many a weary mile of the way by relating them to his employer, who was always glad to listen. This camp was located in a pleasant valley in the very heart of the foot-hills; and they supposed that there was not a human being within a hundred miles of them. The valley, so the guide informed Oscar, was twenty miles long and half as wide. A deep and rocky ravine gave entrance to it; and it was in a sheltered nook, about halfway between the mouth of this ravine and the opposite end of the valley, that the camp had been made. This was the place for which Big Thompson had been aiming ever since leaving the fort. He assured Oscar that it was a fine hunting-ground; and they had not been in the valley twenty-four hours, before the boy saw enough with his own eyes to convince him that such was the fact. The game, which always retreats to the foot-hills on the approach of cold weather, seemed to have flocked here for shelter; and a better winter abode could not have been found. The high and thickly wooded hills, that arose on every side, effectually shut off the icy blasts that came roaring down from the mountains; the pasturage was rich and abundant; and the clear, dancing trout-brook that wound through the valley afforded a never failing supply of water.