human voice, nor the nicker of any horse other than his
own. He called a word of greeting, "Hello, stranger!" but receiving no
response he ventured farther from his door.

Goldbug was eagerly grazing--too eagerly for his own good. The man
recognized the signs of starvation and led him to a tree, where he
brought him a little water in his own great tin dipper. Then he
relieved him of saddle and bridle and left him tied while he hastily
stowed a few hard-tack and a flask of whisky in his pocket, and taking
a lasso over his arm, started up the trail on his own horse.

"Some poor guy has lost his way and gone over the cliff," he
muttered.

The young man still lay as he had fallen, but now his eyes were open
and staring at the sky. Had he not been too weak to move he would have
gone down; as it was, he waited, not knowing if he were dead or in a
dream, seeing only the blue above him, and hearing only the scream of
the eagle.

"Lie still. Don't ye move. Don't ye stir a hair. I'll get ye. Still
now--still."

The big man's voice came to him as out of a great chasm, scarcely
heard for the roaring in his head, although he was quite near. His
arms hung down and one leg swung free, but his body rested easily
balanced in the branches. Presently he felt something fall lightly
across his chest, slip down to his hand, and then crawl slowly up his
arm to the shoulder, where it tightened and gripped. A vague hope
awoke in him.

"Now, wait. I'll get ye; don't move. I'll have a noose around ye'r leg
next,--so." The voice had grown clearer, and seemed nearer, but the
young man could make no response with his parched throat.

"Now if I hurt ye a bit, try to stand it." The man carried the long
loop of his lasso around the cliff and wound it securely around
another scrub oak, and then began slowly and steadily to pull, until
the young man moaned with pain,--to cry out was impossible.

"I'll have ye in a minute--I'll have ye--there! Catch at my hand. Poor
boy, poor boy, ye can't. Hold on--just a little more--there!" Strong
arms reached for him. Strong hands gripped his clothing and lifted him
from the terrible chasm's edge.

"He's more dead than alive," said the big man, as he strove to pour a
little whisky between the stranger's set teeth. "Well, I'll pack him
home and do for him there."

He lifted his weight easily, and placing him on his horse, led the
animal to the cabin where he laid him in his own bunk. There, with
cool wat