over, and the Indian said:

"Ugh! Heap big earthquake! Great Spirit mad! Come."

But Job could not easily come. His foot was doubled up under him and
sharp pains were darting through it. Indian Bill sprang to his
assistance, fairly carried him up the steep side of the precipice,
from whence, fortunately for him, he had fallen on soft earth, and put
him on his feet on the trail. Oh, that long walk over the jutting
points, down among the boulders, and up again on places of the trail
that seemed suspended between earth and sky! Every step brought a
groan to Job's lips. He grew feverish and thirsty. Bill parted a bunch
of almost tropical ferns which grew against the rocks, and led Job in
to a place where, through the stone roof of a dark canyon, the ice-cold
water trickled down drop by drop. It was well toward dusk when Job
dropped exhausted on the trail, and the hardy Indian slung him over
his shoulder, bore him up a narrow canyon that entered the main gorge
on the right, and laid him down on his own blankets in the little
wick-i-up made of twisted limbs and twigs that he called home. Soon
the crackling fire warmed the water, the sprained foot was bandaged,
and Job was asleep.

* * * * *

It was a strange scene on which Job opened his eyes the next morning.
He was lying on a bed of cedar boughs, wrapped in an old gray blanket,
and with one of many colors under him. A roof of gray and green was
over him, the forest's foliage woven into a tent. Through the parted
branches he could see the brown-skinned Indian bending over a ruddy
fire from whence the savory odor of frying trout stole in. Through an
avenue of green down the narrow canyon, he could see the morning sun
shining on the waters of the Merced which tumbled over the great
rocks. He tried to rise, but a sharp pain shot through his foot. Far
away he heard the call of a bird, and out by the fire the weird
strains of a monotonous folk-song rose in the air. Job closed his eyes
and sent up a morning prayer. In it he tried to pray for Jane, but
somehow could not. She was safe, he knew; probably at the fire, too,
in the beautiful valley from whence those rushing waters came.

The trout breakfast was over--Bill knew where to get the beauties,
and, after he had got them, knew how to cook them--when Job learned
from the old trapper that he was to be his guest for a week; that not
before then would he be able to continue the journey home, and