girl and a pack, it would be added encumbrance; and after debating
the matter he left the rifle leaning against the bench. As he went
straight down the slope he halted every few rods to look up at his mark
on the rim. It changed, but he fixed each change in his memory. When he
reached the first cedar-tree, he tied his scarf upon a dead branch, and
then hurried toward camp, having no more concern about finding his trail
upon the return trip.

Darkness soon emboldened and lent him greater speed. It occurred to him,
as he glided into the grassy glade near camp and head the whinny of a
horse, that he had forgotten Wrangle. The big sorrel could not be gotten
into Surprise Valley. He would have to be left here.

Venters determined at once to lead the other horses out through the
thicket and turn them loose. The farther they wandered from this canyon
the better it would suit him. He easily descried Wrangle through the
gloom, but the others were not in sight. Venters whistled low for the
dogs, and when they came trotting to him he sent them out to search for
the horses, and followed. It soon developed that they were not in the
glade nor the thicket. Venters grew cold and rigid at the thought of
rustlers having entered his retreat. But the thought passed, for the
demeanor of Ring and Whitie reassured him. The horses had wandered away.

Under the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness, yet not
so thick that Venter's night-practiced eyes could not catch the white
oval of a still face. He bent over it with a slight suspension of breath
that was both caution lest he frighten her and chill uncertainty of
feeling lest he find her dead. But she slept, and he arose to renewed
activity.

He packed his saddle-bags. The dogs were hungry, they whined about
him and nosed his busy hands; but he took no time to feed them nor to
satisfy his own hunger. He slung the saddlebags over his shoulders and
made them secure with his lasso. Then he wrapped the blankets closer
about the girl and lifted her in his arms. Wrangle whinnied and thumped
the ground as Venters passed him with the dogs. The sorrel knew he was
being left behind, and was not sure whether he liked it or not. Venters
went on and entered the thicket. Here he had to feel his way in pitch
blackness and to wedge his progress between the close saplings. Time
meant little to him now that he had started, and he edged along with
slow side movement till he got clear of the thi