herefore Sandy set out alone.

He ascended a shoulder of the mountain, working his way upward to where
he had located the range of the big bear. It was steady climbing, and
rough as well, but Sandy was in hard, lean condition, with the
limitless wind and springy muscles of youth. He arrived at his
objective point, a spot which gave him a clear view of the mountain
side for a mile on either hand. Somewhere in that area, he had already
decided, the bear would be feeding. He settled down for a long, careful
inspection; first with the naked eye, which yielded nothing, and next
with a pair of binoculars. Sandy, when hunting, possessed unlimited
patience. He settled himself comfortably, and kept the glasses at work.
Finally his patience was rewarded. A mile or more up the hillside a
huge, brown shape shambled into view.

"Lord! he's a big brute," Sandy muttered. "That's a hide worth getting.
I'll wait till he settles down for keeps."

Apparently the bear had found food to his liking. He was busy with paw
and tongue beside a rotten log. Sandy mapped out a route in his mind,
and decided to make a start. It was then noon. As he rose he happened
to look up the valley.

It lay below him, ashimmer in the summer sun, a panorama of green,
light and dark of shade, with the silver ribbon of the Klimminchuck
appearing and disappearing down its length. It was, perhaps, as
beautiful a mountain valley scene as eye ever beheld; but Sandy McCrae
would not have looked at it twice save for a thin, gray thread which
appeared above the treetops some miles away. It became a column,
ballooned, and then was invisible. But he knew that somebody had just
started a fire.

He picked out the spot with the glasses. Smoke was plainly visible
through the powerful lenses. It was close to the river--beside the
bank, in fact--and he could catch glimpses of one or two horses. But,
because of the trees, he could see little more.

"Darn the luck," said Sandy. "There's the biggest hide in the whole
range waiting for me, and somebody has to come butting in. Well,
there's only one thing to do."

That thing being to get back to camp as fast as possible, Sandy
proceeded to do it. He went downhill at a pace that would have shaken
an older and heavier man to pieces; for going downhill is, contrary to
the popular idea, much harder on the human frame than going up. He
broke into camp and roused McHale from a state of somnolence and
tobacco.

"I could 'a' tanne