There were no buffalo-robes for beds, but there were fragrant pine-boughs instead, blankets in abundance, and a joint of venison hanging from the rafters overhead.
One end of the cabin was occupied by the wagon, which had been taken to pieces and stored there for protection from the weather.
In the rear of this cabin was another, not quite so carefully built, into which the pony and mule were driven every night. During the day they were allowed to roam at will in the valley (the guide said that when the snow came and covered the grass they would be obliged to cut down cottonwood trees for them to browse upon); and, as soon as it began to grow dark, they were shut up for security.
All the “signs” indicated that beasts of prey were abundant in the valley; and, if a pack of wolves or a hungry grizzly should chance to make a meal of the mule, how would they get Oscar’s specimens and chest of tools back to the fort in the spring?
Taken altogether, it was just such a camp as he had often read of; and Oscar, as he rubbed his hands over the fire and gazed about their comfortable quarters, grew enthusiastic.
“Now, this is what I call comfort,” said he. “With plenty to eat, a good supply of firewood close at hand, a tight roof to shelter us from the storm, and no enemies to trouble us—what more could a couple of hunters ask for? I don’t think spending a winter in the foot-hills is so bad after all.”
The guide smiled and nodded his head significantly, but made no other reply. He knew that this was the poetry of a hunter’s life, and that the prose would come soon enough.
Having arranged his blankets and thrown a few sticks of wood upon the fire, Oscar removed his boots and coat and lay down to rest, leaving Big Thompson to the companionship of his pipe and his own thoughts.
He lay for a long time watching the sparks as they ascended toward the opening in the roof, and listening to the roaring storm, which seemed to increase in violence every moment; and finally, while he was laying elaborate plans for the capture of some of the wolves, whose mournful howls now and then came faintly to his ears, he passed quietly into the land of dreams.
He did not know that there was another camp in the valley, and that other ears besides his own were listening to the howls of those same wolves, but such was the fact.