him for the horses, or for signs of them. They
were nowhere to be seen. Saleratus Bill, reading his perplexity, grinned
sardonically.

"Yore friends might come in here," said he, evidently not unwilling to
expose to Bob the full hopelessness of the latter's case. "And if so,
they can trail us in; _and then trail us out again!_" He pointed to the
lacets of the trail up the north wall. He grinned again. "You and I'd
just crawl down a mile of mine shaft."

Having thus, to his satisfaction, impressed Bob with the utter futility
of an attempt to escape, Saleratus Bill led the way back to the deserted
village. There he turned deliberately on his captive.

"Now, young feller, you listen to me," said he. "Don't you try no monkey
business. There won't be no questions asked, none whatever. As long as
you set and look at the scenery, you won't come to no harm; but the
minute you make even a bluff at gettin' funny--even if yore sorry the
next minute--I'll shoot. And don't you never forget and try to get
nearer to me than three paces. Don't forget that! I don't rightly want
to hurt you; but I'd just as leave shoot you as anybody else."

To this view of the situation Bob gave the expected assent.

The next three days were ones of routine. Saleratus Bill spent his time
rolling brown-paper cigarettes at a spot that commanded both trails. Bob
was instructed to keep in sight. He early discovered the cheering fact
that trout were to be had in the glass-green pools; and so spent hours
awkwardly manipulating an improvised willow pole equipped with the short
line and the Brown Hackle without which no mountaineer ever travels the
Sierras. His bound elbows and the crudity of his tackle lost him many
fish. Still, he caught enough for food; and his mind was busy.

Canvassing the possibilities, Bob could not but admit that Saleratus
Bill knew his job. The river was certain death, and led nowhere except
into mysterious and awful granite gorges; the outlets by roads were well
in sight. For one afternoon Bob seriously contemplated hazarding a
personal encounter. He conceived that in some manner he could get rid of
his bonds at night; that Saleratus Bill must necessarily sleep; and that
there might be a chance to surprise the gun-man then. But when night
came, Saleratus Bill disappeared into the outer darkness; nor did he
return until morning. He might have spent the hours camped under the
trees of the more remote meadow, whence in the brillian