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.