ay and followed the excited watchers. As he did so, the
girl perceived a fourth flash in the abyss, a hundred yards farther
downstream. She hastened with the flag to a point a little beyond the
place.

When Genevieve had quieted the baby and overtaken Isobel, the latter
was ready with a question: "You know Tom so well. Why is he going on
down? He said that he would at once return after reaching the place
where the head of the tunnel is to be."

"He must have seen the beacon," replied Genevieve. "He could not have
mistaken that. Something has forced him to change his plans. It may be
they were swept down some place in the river that he knows they cannot
re-ascend."

"Oh! do not say it!" sobbed the girl. "If they cannot get back--oh!
what will they do? How will they ever escape?"

"Is there no other place?" asked Genevieve. "Think, dear. Is there no
break in these terrible precipices?"

"There's a place where the wall slopes back--but steep, oh, so steep!
Yet it is barely possible--" The girl's voice sank, and she glanced
about at Gowan. "It is just this side of where more than five thousand
sheep were driven over into the canyon. That was four years ago. I
have never since been able to go near the place."

"Tom said that he rode all along the canyon for miles. You say it may
be possible to climb up at that place. He must have seen it, and he
has remembered it."

"Then you think--?"

"I know that if it is possible for anyone to climb the wall, Tom will
climb it--and he will bring up Lafayette with him."

"Dear Genevieve! You are so strong! so full of hope!"

"Not hope, dear. It is trust. I know Tom better than you. That is
all."

"Another flash!" cried Isobel. "So soon, yet all that long way from
the last! They are traveling far faster!"

"Yes, they have finished with the levels," divined Genevieve. "We must
hasten."

Isobel called the news to the silent puncher, and all moved along to
overtake the hurrying fugitives below. Though both parties went so
much faster, Blake's frequent shots kept the anxious watchers above in
closer touch than at any time before.

At last they came to that Cyclopean ladder of precipices, rising one
above the other in narrow steps, and all inclined at a giddy pitch far
steeper than any house roof. Yet for a long way down them the field
glasses showed their surfaces wrinkled with shelves and projecting
ledges and creased with faults and crevices.

The party went past this se