pressed himself against the rock and held his hand to throttle
the beating of his heart. They approached. Now he heard the soft shuffle
of their feet. Closer, and the first was nearly abreast of him. Closer
still, and the man glided by not three yards away, as--happy relief--did
his followers.

They passed, and still he moved not. The subdued twinkling of the
falling gravel, the swish and rattle of the boughs and he was alone.
Then his breath came back with a spurt, and he realized that he had been
near to suffocation. It was not that he feared for himself. But that
awful responsibility, the warning of Jim. He must do nothing, attempt
nothing, that would involve the possibility of delay.

But there was no time for musing. The half of his dangerous descent was
before him. He hurried forward again, almost running along the shelving
bench although he knew that a perpendicular drop of many yards was but a
few inches from his nimble feet. He knew where to make the next plunge
downward for the shelf pinched out, and there was no other way of
advancing.

Down he went among insecure boulders, fragments of the upper cliff
thrown off by some convulsion of nature, and again he had a dangerous
fall. He struck upon his side and slid for a rod not unlike a log,
bringing up with a serious injury against a boulder. Below were dwarf
compametos trees, and beneath them he squirmed, the meager light shut
out entirely by their dense foliage. Soon a bed of prickly leaves and
ferns told him that he was over the worst of the road.

Still there was much treacherous footing ahead and he stumbled and
tripped more than once. But now he was nearing the shack, and he must
exercise all his caution taught by long experience with the Indians.
Noiseless and as stealthy as a cat he squirmed through the tangled
underbrush till he reached the sandy margin of Crescent Bay. Still
keeping within the shadow of the forest growth, he advanced rapidly,
fearing every moment that some overt act would advise him that he had
not been swift enough.

Now he was within call of the shelter, and he gave a peculiar signal, a
note of warning for Jim if he were awake. There was no response. None
when the call was again repeated louder. Horrible thought! Was he too
late?

CHAPTER XXI.

THE CAPTURE.

Selecting a convenient resting place, Jim had sat down, and for the
second time, taking up his rifle, went over it carefully, testing the
lock and cleaning and