UNCLE Joe met them at the door, and, while they were relieving themselves of their overcoats and weapons, asked innumerable questions about their sojourn¹ in the woods. Dick took the part of spokesman, and described, in his rude, trapper’s style, the scenes through which they had passed, dwelling³ with a good deal of emphasis on the “keerlessness” displayed by the Young Naturalist⁴ in attacking the moose, and in starting off alone to fight the panther. The trapper tried hard to suppress the feelings of pride which he really felt, and favored the young hunter with a look that was intended to be severe, but which was, in fact, a mingling⁵ of joy and satisfaction.  
Frank bore the scolding which Uncle Joe administered with a very good grace, for he knew that he deserved it.
 
“I’d like to take the youngster out on the prairy,” said Dick, seating himself before the fire, and producing his never-failing pipe. “I’ll bet that, arter he had follered me and Useless a year or two, he wouldn’t be in no great hurry to pitch into every wild varmint he come acrost.”
 
Frank made no reply, but taking the cubs⁶ from the pockets of his overcoat, allowed them to run about the cabin—a proceeding⁷ which the dogs, especially Brave, regarded with suspicion, and which they could not be persuaded to permit, until they had received several hearty⁸ kicks and cuffs⁹ from their masters.
 
“You can’t blame the critters,” said the trapper, puffing¹⁰ away at his pipe. “It’s their natur’, an’ I sometimes think that them dogs have a deal more sense than their human masters, an’”——
 
“Supper’s ready,” interrupted Bob, the cook and man-of-all-work, and this announcement put an end to all further conversation on the subject.
 
The boys were highly delighted to find themselves seated at a well-filled table once more, and Uncle Joe’s good things rapidly disappeared before their attacks. It made no difference to the trapper, however. With him a few weeks “roughing it” in the woods was, of course, no novelty. A log for a table, and a piece of clean bark for a plate, answered his purpose as well as all the improvements of civilization, which those who have been brought up in the settlements regard as necessary to their very existence.
 
After supper, they drew their chairs in front of the fire, and Uncle Joe and his brother solaced¹¹ themselves with their pipes, while Bob busied himself in clearing away the table and washing the dishes.
 
“This Bill Lawson,” said the trapper, after taking a few puffs¹² at his pipe, to make sure that it was well lighted, “used to take it into his head onct in awhile to act as guide for fellers as wanted to go to Californy. He knowed every inch of the country from St. Joseph to the mines, for he had been over the ground more’n you ever traveled through these yere woods, an’ he was called as good a guide as ever tuk charge of a wagon¹³-train. In course, I allers went with him on these trips, as a sort o’ pack-hoss an’ hunter, cause ole Bill couldn’t think o’ goin’ anywhere without me; an’ I have often thought that the reason why he made them trips as guide, was jest to get a good look at the folks; it reminded him o’ the time when he had parents, an’ brothers an’ sisters. He never laughed an’ joked round the camp-fires, as he used to do when me and him war off alone in the mountains. He hardly ever said a word to any body besides me, an’ allers appeared to be sorrowful. This give him the name of ‘Moody Bill,’ by which he was knowed all through the country. Every trader on the prairy war acquainted with him, an’ he allers tuk out a big train. I never knowed him to lose but one, an’ he lost himself with it. The way it happened war this:
 
“One night, arter we had got about a week’s journey west of Fort Laramie, we stopped in a little oak opening, where we made our camp. It war right in the heart o’ the wust Injun country I ever see, an’ near a place where me an’ ole Bill had often cached our furs an’ other fixins, an’ which we used as a kind o’ camp when we war in that part o’ the country trappin’ beaver¹⁴ an’ fightin’ Injuns. It war a cave in the side of a mountain, an’ the way we had it fixed¹⁵ nobody besides ourselves couldn’t find it. We never went in or come out of it until arter dark, ’cause the Comanches were a’most allers huntin’ ’bout the mountains, an’ we didn’t want em to break up our harborin’ place. We had made up our minds that, arter we had seed our train safe through, we would come back to our ‘bar’s hole,’ as we called it, an’ spend a month or so in fightin’ the Comanches an’ skrimmagin’ with the grizzlies¹⁶ in the mountains.
 
“Wal, as I war sayin’ we made our camp, an’ while I war dressin’ a buck¹⁷ I had shot, ole Bill, as usual, leaned on his rifle, an’ watched the emigrants¹⁸ unpack¹⁹ their mules²⁰ an’ wagons²¹, an’ make their preparations for the night. Arter supper he smoked a pipe, an’ then rolled himself up in his blanket an’ said——‘Dick, you know this place, but you ain’t no trapper;’ an’, without sayin’ any more, he lay down and went to sleep, leavin’ me to station the guards, an’ see that every thing went on right durin’ the night.
 
“I knowed well enough what ole Bill meant when he said, ‘Dick, you ain’t no trapper.’ He had seed Injun sign durin’ the day, an’ war pokin’ fun at me, cause I hadn’t seed it too. I don’t know, to this day, how it war that I had missed it, for I had kept a good look-out, an’ I had allers thought that I war ’bout as good an Injun hunter as any feller in them diggins, (allers exceptin’ ole Bill and Bob Kelly;) but the way the ole man spoke² tuk me down a peg²² or two, an’ made me feel wusser nor you youngsters do when you get trounced at school for missin’ your lessons.
 
“Wal, as soon as it come dark, I put out the guards, an’ then shouldered my rifle, an’ started out to see if I could find any sign o’ them Injuns that ole Bill had diskivered. It war as purty a night as you ever see. The moon shone out bright an’ clear, an’, savin’ the cry of a whippoorwill, that come from a gully ’bout a quarter of a mile from the camp, an’ the barkin’ o’ the prairy wolves, every thing war as still as death. You youngsters would have laughed at the idea o’ goin’ out to hunt Injuns on such a night; but I knowed that there must be somethin’ in the wind, for ole Bill never got fooled about sich things. Here in the settlements he wouldn’t have knowed enough to earn his salt; but out on the prairy he knowed all about things.
 
“Wal, I walked all round the camp, an’ back to the place where I had started from, an&rs............