ore and more. All
we can do is to make the attempt to get out."

"Av this is Warter Pocket Canyon, we may not be able to foind this pass
if we lave it."

"We will mark the spot some way."

"How?"

"That is the question. Wait till I find a way."

It was not easy, but Frank finally decided that he could tell the
mountain through the base of which the pass had seemed to wind.

Then they went into the wild and picturesque valley, while Frank
continued to look back at intervals in order to impress the appearance
of the mountain on his mind.

That night they camped beside a little stream that bubbled out from
beneath the base of a cliff, and it was found that their stock of
provisions was getting very low, even though they had preserved it as
far as possible by shooting and cooking wild game.

"We have got to get out av here soon, Frankie," said the Irish boy,
soberly.

Frank nodded.

"That is evident; but we are doing our best, and so we can do no
better."

Frank was somewhat disheartened, but he did not wish Barney to know it,
and so he pretended to be cheerful.

Darkness settled over the canyon, and the light of a tiny fire shone on
the faces of the young adventurers.

Frank seemed to be dreaming, for, with a far-away stare, he was gazing
straight into the flames, apparently quite unaware of his surroundings.

In the flaring fire he saw strange pictures of events in his own
career--a career such as had never before fallen to the lot of a boy of
his years.

He seemed to behold the scores of perils through which he had passed,
and before him seemed to flit the faces of the many friends and foes he
had made.

He saw the foes of his school days--Snell, Bascomb, Gage, and all the
others--skulk past in procession. Snell had a sneaking, treacherous look
on his face, Bascomb swaggered along in the old bullying manner, and
Gage seemed to be driven along by the Evil One, who was constantly
goading him to rash and desperate things. Then he saw the face of his
most deadly enemy, his own cousin, Carlos Merriwell; but it no longer
bore a look of malignant hatred, for it was white and cold in the last
long sleep.

There were other enemies who had sprung up along his path, but they
seemed like shadows in comparison to the ones of his school days.

Following these came others, and the dark look faded from his
countenance. He saw Bart Hodge, who had once been his bitter enemy, but
who had become his stanchest frien