ting and lift of the
morning air; all the worn, haggard look gone from his face.

"Wall, I swan!" shouted the trapper to Holcomb, as he came near enough
to shake his hand, "you warn't perticler 'bout the way you come,
Billy. If your friend ain't dead beat it ain't your fault."

"I hadn't any choice, Hite," laughed Holcomb. "You fellows must have
been drowned out last night; the log over the South Branch is gone
in the freshet; we had to get round the best way we could. Step
up, Freme," he said. "I want you to know Mr. Thayor. This is Freme
Skinner, Mr. Thayor, and this is Hite Holt, and there's no better
anywhere round here."

Thayor stretched out both hands and caught each extended palm in a
hearty grip.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thayor," said the trapper, his
great freckled paw tight in the white hand of the stranger. "By goll,
you done well, friend. But what did ye let Billy lead you through
sich a hell-patch as he did, Mr. Thayor?" There was a certain silent
dignity about the trapper as he greeted the new-comer. As he spoke the
old dog sniffed at Thayor's knees, and with a satisfied air regained
his resting place once more.

"Well, it was about all I cared to do for one morning," answered
Thayor between his breaths, "but you see we found the old trail
impossible. And so you received our telegram in time," he said,
glancing in delight at the freshly thatched roof of the shanty.

"Oh, we got it," answered the trapper. "Joe Dubois's boy come in with
your telegram to the valley, and as soon as I got it I dug out
for Freme, and we come in here day 'fore yesterday to git things
comfortable."

"Breakfus, gentlemen!" announced the Clown, for the bacon was done
to a turn. "How do you like yourn, Mr. Thayor--leetle mite o' fat and
lean?"

"Any way it happens to be," replied the millionaire, as he squeezed
into his place at the rough board table next the trapper. "But before
I touch a mouthful I want you all to understand that I don't wish to
be considered as a guest. I'm on a holiday and I'm going to take my
share of whatever comes."

"Thar, Freme!" exclaimed the trapper, "I told ye Mr. Thayor warn't
perticler."

* * * * *

That night after supper the four sat chatting within the glow of the
stove, while the old dog lay asleep. Possibly it was the persuasion
latent in a bottle of Thayor's private reserve, that little by little
coaxed the trapper into an unusually t