between trees and dead branches without a
sound. I managed pretty well, yet more than once a rattling stone or a
broken branch stopped Hiram short and made him lift a warning hand.

At last we got down to the narrow bench which separated the canyon-slope
from the deep cut. It was level and roughly strewn with boulders. Here
we took to all fours and crawled. It was easy to move here without
noise, for the ground was rocky and hard, and there was no brush.

Suddenly I fairly bumped into the hunter. Looking up, I saw that he had
halted only a few feet from the edge of the gorge where I had climbed
out in my escape. He was listening. There was not a sound save the dull
roar of rushing water.

Hiram slid forward a little, and rose cautiously to look over. I did
the same. When I saw the cave and the spring-hole I felt a catch in my
throat.

But there was not a man in sight. Dick's captors had broken camp; they
were gone. The only thing left in the gorge to show they had ever been
there was a burned-out campfire.

"They're gone," I whispered.

"Wal, it 'pears so," replied Hiram. "An' it's a move I don't like.
Youngster, it's you they want. Leslie's no particular use to them.
They'll have to let him go sooner or later, if they hain't already."

"What'll we do now?"

"Make tracks. We'll cut back acrost the ridge an' git some blankets an'
grub, then light out for the other side of Penetier."

I thought the old hunter had made rapid time on our way up, but now I
saw what he really meant by "making tracks." Fortunately, after a short,
killing climb, the return was all down-hill. One stride of Hiram's
equalled two of mine, and he made his faster, so that I had to trot now
and then to catch up. Very soon I was as hot as fire, and every step was
an effort. But I kept thinking of Dick, of my mustang and outfit, and I
vowed I would stick to Hiram Bent's trail till I dropped. For the matter
of that I did drop more than once before we reached the cabin.

A short rest while Hiram was packing a few things put me right again. I
strapped my rifle over my shoulder, and then went out to untie my bear
cub. It would have cost me a great deal to leave him behind. I knew I
ought to, still I could not bring myself to it. All my life I had wanted
a bear cub. Here was one that I had helped to lasso and tie up with my
own hands. I made up my mind to hold to the cub until the last gasp.

So I walked up to Cubby with a manner more bold than s