look down. Far below in the ravine somebody was waving a white
cloth.

"Hilloa, up there!"

She was too terrified to speak; yet, after the salute had reached her
several times, she dared to loose one hand and wave a returning signal.

"You--just--hold on! I'll come--and get--you!"

As "holding on" was all that either Amy or Pepita could do just then,
they obeyed, perforce; although, presently, the burro had scrambled to a
narrow ledge, whence she could see the whole descent and from which, if
left to herself, she would doubtless have found a way into the valley.

They clung and waited for so long that the girl grew confused; then
tried to rally her own courage by addressing the "Californian."

"It's so--so absurd--I mean, awful! If that man doesn't come soon, I
shall surely fall. My fingers ache so, and I'm slipping.
I--am--slipping! Ah!"

Fortunately, her rescuer was near. He had worked his way upward on all
fours, his bare feet clinging securely where shoe-soles would have been
useless. He approached without noise, save of breaking twigs, until he
was close beside them, when Pepita concluded it was time to bid him
welcome.

"Br-r-r-ray! A-humph! A-humph--umph--mph--ph--h!"

The climber halted suddenly.

"Sho-o!"

Also startled, Amy lost her hold and shot downward straight into the
arms of the stranger, who seized her, croaking in her ear:--

"Hilloa! What you up to? Can't you wait a minute?"

Then, with a strong grasp of her clothing, he wriggled himself sidewise
along the bank to a spot where the rock gave place to earth and shrubs.

"Now catch your breath and let her go!"

The girl might have screamed, but she had no time. Instantly, she was
again sliding downward, with an ever-increasing momentum, toward
apparent destruction, yet landing finally upon a safe and mossy place;
past which, for a brief space, the otherwhere rough stream flowed
placidly. She caught the hum of happy insects and the moist sweet odor
of growing ferns, then heard another rush and tumble. But she was as yet
too dazed to look up or realize fresh peril, before Pepita and the other
stood beside her.

"Sho! That beats--huckleberries!"

Amy struggled to her feet. She had never heard a voice like that, which
began a sentence with mighty volume and ended it in a whisper. She
stared at the owner curiously, and with a fresh fear. "He looks as queer
as his voice," she thought.

She was right. His physique was as grotesque as his