The room contained a fine library, an extensive collection of relics of all descriptions, and its walls were adorned with pictures, only they were of a different character from those in the other parts of the house.  Frank and Archie cared nothing for such scenes as the “Soldier’s Dream” and “Sunrise in the Mountains;” their tastes ran in another channel.  Their favorite picture hung over their writing desk, and was entitled, “One Rubbed Out.”  In the foreground was a man mounted on a mustang that was going at full speed.  The man was dressed in the garb of a hunter, with leggins, moccasins, and coonskin cap, and in one hand he carried a rifle, while the other held the reins which guided his horse.  The hunter was turned half around in the saddle, looking back toward half a dozen Indians, who had been pursuing him, but were now gathered about their chief, who had been struck from his horse by a ball from the hunter’s rifle.  The latter’s face wore a broad grin, which testified to the satisfaction he felt at the result of this shot.  This picture had been shown to old Bob Kelly, who, after regarding it attentively for a few moments, declared that it must have been painted by some one who was acquainted with the story of his last trip to the Saskatchewan, the particulars of which he had related to Dick on the night he made his first appearance in their camp.

“I don’t know how the chap that made that ar’ pictur’ could have found it out,” said old Bob, who, simple-hearted fellow that he was, really believed that the hunter in the painting was intended to represent him, “’cause I never told the story to nobody ‘cept you an’ my chum Dick.  But thar’s one thing wrong about it, youngsters.  When I shot a Injun, I didn’t hold my rifle on the horn of my saddle, an’ waste time laughin’ over it.  I loaded up again to onct, an’ got ready for another shot.”

At the opposite end of the room hung a picture of a hunters’ camp.  Two or three men were stretched out on the ground before a cheerful fire, resting after the labors of the day, while others were coming in from the woods—­some loaded with water-fowl, some with fish, and the two who brought up the rear were staggering under the weight of a fine deer they had shot.  Archie often wondered where that camp could have been located.  He did not believe there was a place in the United States where game of all kinds was as abundant as the hunters in the picture found it.

Paintings of this character occupied prominent places on the walls of the room, and between them hung numerous relics the boys had collected during their journey across the prairie, and a few trophies of their skill as hunters.  Over the door were the antlers of the first and only elk they had killed, and upon them hung a string of grizzly bear’s claws, which had once been worn as a necklace by an Indian chief, and also a bow, a quiver full of arrows, a stone tomahawk, and a scalping-knife—­all of which had been presented to them by Captain Porter.  At the head of the bed were two pairs of deer’s horns fastened to the wall, and supporting their rifles, bullet-pouches, powder-horns, and hunting-knives.