m
glad to see you again. Much obliged to you, Joe, for interfering on
behalf of old Sox. I would not have the bird hurt for a good deal. I saw
the whole transaction from where I was standing up there in that grove
of aspens. Why did your companion go off so suddenly?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I only just mentioned to him that Sox
belonged to you, when he picked up his shovel and skipped."

Peter laughed. "I understand," said he. "The gentleman and I have met
before, and have no wish to meet again. Our first and only interview was
not conducive to a desire for further acquaintance. He is not a friend
of yours, I hope."

"Not at all," I replied. "We never met him before."

"Well, I'm glad of that, because he is not one to be intimate with: he
is a thief."

"Why do you say that?" asked Joe, rather startled.

"Because I happen to know it's so. I'll tell you how. I had set a
bear-trap once up on the mountain back of my house, and going up next
day to see if I had caught anything, I found this fellow busy skinning
my bear. He had come upon it by accident, I suppose, and the bear being
caught by both front feet, and being therefore perfectly helpless, he
had bravely shot it, and was preparing to walk off with the skin when I
appeared."

"And what did you say to him?" I asked.

"Nothing," replied Peter. "I just sat down on a rock near by, with my
rifle across my knees, and watched him; and he grew so embarrassed and
nervous and fidgety that he couldn't stand it any longer, and at last he
sneaked off without completing his job and without either of us having
said a word."

"That certainly was a queer interview," remarked Joe, laughing, "and a
most effective way, I should think, of dealing with a blustering rogue
like Long John."

"Long John?" repeated the hermit, inquiringly.

"Yes, Long John Butterfield; known also as 'The Yellow Pup.'"

"Oh, that's who it is, is it? I've heard of him from my friend, Tom
Connor."

"Tom Connor!" we both exclaimed. "Do you know Tom Connor, then?"

"Yes, we have met two or three times in the mountains, and he once spent
the night with me in my cabin--he is the 'one exception' I told you
about, you remember. He seems like a good, honest fellow, and he has
certainly been most obliging to me."

As we looked inquiringly at him, wondering how Tom could have found an
opportunity to be of service to one living such a secluded life as the
hermit did, our friend went on:

"I happe