alked, leading their
horses. By this time I was so mad I would not get off. I rode all the
way down that steep slope of dense saplings, loose rock slides and
earth, and jumble of splintered cliff. That he did not break my
neck and his own spoke the truth about that roan horse. Despite his
inexperience he was great. We fell over one bank, but a thicket of
aspens saved us from rolling. The avalanches slid from under us until
I imagined that the grizzly would be scared. Once as I stopped to
listen I heard bear and pack farther down the canyon--heard them above
the roar of a rushing stream. They went on and I lost the sounds of
fight. But R.C.'s clear thrilling call floated up to me. Probably he
was worried about me.

Then before I realized it I was at the foot of the slope, in a narrow
canyon bed, full of rocks and trees, with the din of roaring water in
my ears. I could hear nothing else. Tracks were everywhere, and when I
came to the first open place I was thrilled. The grizzly had plunged
off a sandy bar into the water, and there he had fought the hounds.
Signs of that battle were easy to read. I saw where his huge tracks,
still wet, led up the opposite sandy bank.

Then, down stream, I did my most reckless riding. On level ground
the horse was splendid. Once he leaped clear across the brook. Every
plunge, every turn I expected to bring me upon my brother and Teague
and that fighting pack. More than once I thought I heard the spang of
the .35 and this made me urge the roan faster and faster.

The canyon narrowed, the stream-bed deepened. I had to slow down to
get through the trees and rocks. And suddenly I was overjoyed to ride
pell-mell upon R.C. and Teague with half the panting hounds. The
canyon had grown too rough for the horses to go farther and it would
have been useless for us to try on foot. As I dismounted, so sore and
bruised I could hardly stand, old Jim came limping in to fall into the
brook where he lapped and lapped thirstily. Teague threw up his hands.
Old Jim's return meant an ended chase. The grizzly had eluded the
hounds in that jumble of rocks below.

"Say, did you meet the bear?" queried Teague, eyeing me in
astonishment and mirth.

Bloody, dirty, ragged and wringing wet with sweat I must have been a
sight. R.C. however, did not look so very immaculate, and when I saw
he also was lame and scratched and black I felt better.

CHAPTER III

ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON

I

The Gr