n until the road dipped down toward the lower
country. He remembered that, on the way in, his captor had led him first
down the mountain, and then up again. Bob resolved to abandon the road
and keep to the higher contours, trusting to cut the trail where it
again mounted to his level. To be sure, it was probable that there
existed some very good reason why the road so dipped to the valley--some
dike, ridge or deep canon impassable to horses. Bob knew enough of
mountains to guess that. Still, he argued, that might not stop a man
afoot.

The rest of a long, hard day he spent in proving this latter
proposition. The country was very broken. A dozen times Bob scrambled
and slid down a gorge, and out again, doing thus an hour's work for a
half mile gain. The sun turned hot, and he had no food. Fortunately
water was abundant. Toward the close of the afternoon he struck in to a
long slope of pine belt, and conceived his difficulties over.

After the heat and glare of the rocks, the cool shadows of the forest
were doubly grateful. Bob lifted his face to the wandering breezes, and
stepped out with fresh vigour. The way led at first up the narrow spine
of a "hogback," but soon widened into one of the ample and spacious
parks peculiar to the elevations near the summits of the First Rampart.
Occasional cattle tracks meandered here and there, but save for these
Bob saw no signs of man's activities--no cuttings, no shake-bolts, no
blazes on the trees to mark a way. Nevertheless, as he rose on the slow,
even swell of the mountain the conviction of familiarity began to force
its way in him. The forest was just like every other forest; there was
no outlook in any direction; but all the same, with that instinct for
locality inherent in a natural woodsman, he began to get his bearings,
to "feel the lay of the country," as the saying is. This is probably an
effect of the subconscious mind in memory; a recognition of what the eye
has seen without reporting to the conscious mind. However that may be,
Bob was not surprised when toward sunset he came suddenly on a little
clearing, a tiny orchard, and a house built rudely of logs and shakes.

Relieved that he was not to spend the night without food and fire, he
vaulted the "snake" fence, and strode to the back door. A woman was
frying venison steaks.

"Hullo, Mrs. Ward," Bob shouted at her. "That smells good to me; I
haven't had a bite since last night!"

The woman dropped her pan and came