The boy thought he could not have been very much impressed with his appearance, for, after running his eyes over him from head to foot, he nodded his head slightly, said “How!” in rather a gruff tone—that was his way of saying “How do you do?”—and then settled back in his chair and turned his face toward the colonel again.
The latter went on to explain the nature of Oscar’s business, and, as the scout knew no more about taxidermy or a museum than he did of chemistry or geology, the officer was obliged to make use of a good many words, and those of the simplest kind too, in order to make him understand what it was that brought the boy to the plains.
There were two things, however, that Big Thompson did comprehend, viz., that Oscar intended to spend the winter in some good game country, and that he was able and willing to pay liberally for the services of an experienced plainsman to act in the capacity of guide and cook.
The hunting Oscar intended to do himself. He hastened to explain this fact to the scout, adding that, when he presented his specimens for the inspection of the committee at Yarmouth, he wanted to be able to say that they had all fallen to his own rifle.
“Then we’ll starve fur want of grub, an’ you won’t get none of them things,” remarked Big Thompson.
“What things?” asked Oscar.
“Them what-do-ye-call-’ems.”
“Specimens? Oh, I hope I shall! I have a room full of them at home now.”
“What be they?”
“Birds, principally.”