to make
sure there were no more rattlers. Satisfied as to this, she leaned
faintly against the wall. The experience had been a shock even to her
sound young nerves.

Chapter XXIII

In the Pit

Beulah shut her eyes to steady herself. From the impact of her fall
she was still shaken. Moreover, though she had shot many a
rattlesnake, this was the first time she had ever been flung head first
into the den of one. It would have been easy to faint, but she denied
herself the luxury of it and resolutely fought back the swimming
lightness in her head.

Presently she began to take stock of her situation. The prospect hole
was circular in form, about ten feet across and nine feet deep. The
walls were of rock and smooth clay. Whatever timbering had been left
by the prospector was rotted beyond use. It crumbled at the weight of
her foot.

How was she to get out? Of course, she would find some way, she told
herself. But how? Blacky was tied to a bush not fifty yards away, and
fastened to the saddle horn was the rope that would have solved her
problem quickly enough. If she had it here--But it might as well be at
Cheyenne for all the good it would do her now.

Perhaps she could dig footholds in the wall by means of which she could
climb out. Unbuckling the spur from her heel, she used the rowel as a
knife to jab a hole in the clay. After half an hour of persistent work
she looked at the result in dismay. She had gouged a hollow, but it
was not one where her foot could rest while she made steps above.

Every few minutes Beulah stopped work to shout for help. It was not
likely that anybody would be passing. Probably she had been the only
person on this hill for months. But she dared not miss any chance.

For it was coming home to her that she might die of starvation in this
prison long before her people found the place. By morning search
parties would be out over the hills looking for her. But who would
think to find her away over on Del Oro? If Brad had carried out his
threat immediately and gone down to Battle Butte, nobody would know
even the general direction in which to seek.

With every hour Beulah grew more troubled. Late in the afternoon she
fired a fourth shot from her revolver in the hope that some one might
hear the sound and investigate. The sun set early for her. She
watched its rays climb the wall of her prison while she worked
half-heartedly with the spur. After a time the ligh