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