Young Dan bound the unknown and unconscious bushwhacker with thongs from a pair of snowshoes on the wall and placed a folded blanket under his sore head and let him lie where he had fallen. Then he sat and watched his new aunt make coffee and warm up a panful of beans for him. She told him of her secret courtship by Uncle Bill, and of their flight and marriage by a parson friend whom Bill had sworn to secrecy—all because William Tangler was the most bashful man in the world. She told of how Bill, who was thought to be so idle and aimless by the people on the Oxbow, was in reality an expert in the science of forestry and in the employ of the Government as such. Bill had gone out that morning to mail an official report and also to mail his young bride’s resignation as teacher in the little school at the Bend. In a few days they would go out to civilization together.
Every now and then Miss Carten thanked Young Dan for saving her from the drunken bushwhacker and she said so many complimentary things that her visitor’s face turned the color of ripe choke-cherries. She said among other things that she believed he was almost as clever and brave as his uncle.
“If I were Uncle Bill I wouldn’t of been so shy,” said Young Dan, who felt greatly relieved by the outcome of his activities and very proud of himself.
When the coffee and beans were ready, and the big ruffian on the floor was beginning to grunt and sigh, Young Dan remarked, “I guess Mister Holmes couldn’t of done that job much slicker himself.” Suddenly he cocked his head to listen. “I can hear Uncle Bill coming up the trail,” he said. “He offered to be my Doctor Watson, but I didn’t need him.”
CHAPTER III
A THIEF WITH CLAWS
Young Dan Evans was done with school; and he had almost decided to hire out with Josh Tod, as a “swamper” in the lumberwoods, when a letter from Uncle Bill Tangler caused him to change his plans for the winter. The letter, which came from Mr. Tangler’s office in a distant city, ran as follows:
Dear Young Dan:
Now that the frost is on the punkin (as a leading poet has remarked) and the swamps back of your pasture are frozen so hard that no woodcock can stick his bill into the mud any more this year (a fact overlooked by said leading poet) and folk on the Oxbow are frying fresh pork with their buckwheat pancakes and making sausages and fattening turkeys, my thoughts are with you frequently and enviously. It is a great country, Young Dan, and a grand season of the year for him who has wild blood in his veins and unimpaired organs of digestion. I should like fine to be away up beyond the Prongs this very morning, putting an edge to an appetite, instead of sitting here at this expensive desk trying to look like the only real know-it-all in the Government’s service; but now that I have a wife who needs two new hats and an evening frock, and a furnace that eats up coal, I must sit in tight and steady to this lady-like job. But what about you, Young Dan? You have exhausted the educational resources of the Bend; you haven’t a wife or a furnace; so why don’t you go up beyond the Prongs? You may use the camp as if you owned it. As for grub, you’ll find enough there of everything except bacon and condensed milk to last till spring—enough for two. So you had better go into partnership with someone—with old Andy Mace, for choice. He is an honest man and was a mighty hunter and fur-taker in his day. You will find half a dozen traps in your own garret and a lot more in the loft of the camp, all in good shape. You are welcome to them, and to my rifle as well, and my snowshoes if they are better than your own. Help yourself. That is a great country for fox and mink and lynx. You should have a prosperous winter—so go to it, with your Uncle Bill’s blessing.
P. S. Here is a little check. Take it to Amos Bissing at the Bend and you’ll find him willing to swap a few dollars for it, I guess. Your Aunt Stella sends her love to you and will mail you another book about Mr. S. Holmes as soon as she gets it ready for the post.