in, wait and signal. We'll use a signal I have
tried and found far-reaching and easy to yell. Waa-hoo! That's it. Once
yelled it means come. Twice means comes quickly. Three times means
come--danger!"

In one corner of the cabin was a platform of poles, covered with straw.
I threw the sleeping-bag on this, and was soon stretched out.
Misgivings as to my strength worried me before I closed my eyes. Once
on my back, I felt I could not rise; my chest was sore; my cough deep
and rasping. It seemed I had scarcely closed my eyes when Jones's
impatient voice recalled me from sweet oblivion.

"Frank, Frank, it's daylight. Jim--boys!" he called.

I tumbled out in a gray, wan twilight. It was cold enough to make the
fire acceptable, but nothing like the morning before on Buckskin.

"Come to the festal board," drawled Jim, almost before I had my boots
laced.

"Jones," said Frank, "Jim an' I'll ooze round here to-day. There's lots
to do, an' we want to have things hitched right before we strike for
the Siwash. We've got to shoe Old Baldy, an' if we can't get him
locoed, it'll take all of us to do it."

The light was still gray when Jones led off with Don, Wallace with
Sounder and I with Moze. Jones directed us to separate, follow the dry
stream beds in the ravines, and remember his instructions given the
night before.

The ravine to the right, which I entered, was choked with huge stones
fallen from the cliff above, and pinyons growing thick; and I wondered
apprehensively how a man could evade a wild animal in such a place,
much less chase it. Old Moze pulled on his chain and sniffed at coyote
and deer tracks. And every time he evinced interest in such, I cut him
with a switch, which, to tell the truth, he did not notice. I thought I
heard a shout, and holding Moze tight, I waited and listened.

"Waa-hoo--waa-hoo!" floated on the air, rather deadened as if it had
come from round the triangular cliff that faced into the valley. Urging
and dragging Moze, I ran down the ravine as fast as I could, and soon
encountered Wallace coming from the middle ravine. "Jones," he said
excitedly, "this way--there's the signal again." We dashed in haste
for the mouth of the third ravine, and came suddenly upon Jones,
kneeling under a pinyon tree. "Boys, look!" he exclaimed, as he pointed
to the ground. There, clearly defined in the dust, was a cat track as
big as my spread hand, and the mere sight of it sent a chill up my
spine. "There's