The wolfer was gone two whole days and a part of another, and when at last he came within sight of the camp he was followed by a very small pony, which fairly staggered under the weight of a huge pack he bore upon his back.
Where he had been, and what he had been doing, of course Tom did not know; but he could see by the expression on his face that Lish was highly elated over something. He really looked good-natured.
“Hello, pard!” he exclaimed as he came to a halt in front of the lean-to. “How ye makin’ it by this time? If we aint struck it rich now we never will! That thar pony is jest loaded down with jest the finest lot of——”
Lish stopped and looked about him, evidently not at all pleased with the gloomy appearance of things. A few green boughs sputtered on the fire, giving out a dense smoke, but no flame; Tom was flat on his back, just as he had left him, and there was no dinner waiting for him.
“Why didn’t ye get me nothin’ to eat?” demanded Lish.
“Why didn’t you send a messenger on ahead to tell me that you were coming?” replied Tom, driven almost desperate by the pain of his wound, which was growing worse, in spite of the best care he could give it.
“Wal, ye see me here now, don’t ye?” retorted Lish. “Git up from thar an’ make me a cup of coffee.”
“I can’t; the coffee is all gone.”
“Then give me a partridge an’ some bread!” commanded the wolfer, beginning to grow angry.
“I can’t do that either. I haven’t been able to visit my snares since you went away, and there is not a crumb of cracker left.”