He had been a hunter and trapper ever since his boyhood. Yielding, while yet in his teens, to the call of his red blood for adventure, he had come west with some mountaineers who had chanced to camp near his father’s pioneer home in the woods of Ohio. Thrilled by their tales of the wild life on the Upper Missouri, he begged his old parents to let him go. He could help them best, he felt sure, by following the life of a trapper. He would return and settle down some day. They finally gave a reluctant consent, allowing him to leave with their prayers and blessings. As a constant reminder to duty, the mother slipped into his pack her old Bible. It lay even now on the top of his cupboard. He never saw his parents again. They died before he could return. Free of all other home ties, he made the Rockies his home. His life had been a long series of thrilling experiences. For many years he had lived among the Indians. He had trapped for Bridger, and other famous fur-traders. Sometimes he had worked with fellow mountaineers, but for the most part he had lived alone as now in some quiet spot close to the heart of nature. The old trapper rarely mingled with men; when he did, it was but for time enough to swap his furs and stock up with the simple supplies that he needed. He said little; and he parried curious questions so curtly that those who sought to find out anything about his life usually left about as wise as they began. If Fred had shown any sign of prying into his new-found friend’s affairs, he might have met the same kind of rebuff. Fred, however, had no such thought. He simply was enjoying the old mountaineer. They talked of the past of these hills, of the wild life, the Indians, the bear, beaver, and buffalo. “This country was thick with game when I fust come here,” said Uncle Dave. “I should have liked to live here then,” responded Fred. “Yes, them was good old days,” said the mountaineer, “but they was mighty hard ones too, only I was young then and didn’t mind hardships. After all, boy, the best days fer you is right now. Don’t go to sighin’ fer any better time. The life you’re livin’ is the best one you’ll ever live. I’ve had most o’ my days; you’re havin’ yours. Fill ’em right, boy, jest as they come to you. Don’t get the frettin’ and wishin’ habit. But if you want to see some new country, I reckon I kin help you find it. There air some pretty wild places left in these hills yet. How’d ye like to take a day with me explorin’ ’em?” “Fine! When shall I come?” “Any time this month’ll do; but come up early; I don’t like climbin’ these hills in the heat o’ the day.” “I’ll be here the first chance I can get; but I must be off now before it gets dark.” While Fred went after his mare, the old man stood in his cabin door peering up the hills toward the north. “Wonder what them Redskins got to-day,” he said, as Fred rode up.