“That’s my brother,” replied Oscar. “Tom, this is my guide, of whom you have often heard me speak.”
Tom arose and extended his hand, but the guide pretended that he did not see it. He put his rifle and snow-shoes in one corner of the cabin, and then turned and looked down at Tom.
“So yer the fine young feller as wanted to bust my pardner up, be ye?” said he sternly, while Tom grew a shade whiter as he noticed the expression that settled on the speaker’s face.
“Now, Thompson, that’s enough of that,” interrupted Oscar. “It was all settled long ago. Don’t say another word about it, for we want to forget it.”
“I’m amazin’ proud to hear it,” growled the guide. “But if ye can’t forgit it, an’ it aint settled nuther, an’ ye wan’t it should be settled——”
He finished the sentence by striking his clenched hand into his open palm.
“But I tell you it is settled!” exclaimed Oscar. “Sit down and don’t spoil a family reunion by showing your temper. Let us see how agreeable you can be. If you don’t, the next time I see you pursued by a grizzly, I’ll——”
“Say no more, perfessor,” said Big Thompson, the scowl instantly fading from his face. “Put it thar!”
“Excuse me,” answered Oscar, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Where are my letters and papers?”
The guide did not act as though he heard the question. He pulled his pipe from his pocket, and, after filling and lighting it with a brand from the fire, he drew a stool close to Oscar’s side and sat down.