supposing the tracks to have been made by Guard, there were
also the hoof-marks of a horse--not a range-horse, for this one wore
shoes, and, developing Indian lore as I studied the trail, I presently
made the important discovery that, while the dog's tracks occasionally
overlaid those of the horse, the horse's tracks never covered the
dog's. Clearly, then, if those footprints belonged to Guard, as I had
a quite unaccountable conviction that they did, he was quietly
following some horseman. For an indignant instant I suspected some
reckless cowboy of having lassoed and stolen him, but a little further
study of the footprints spoiled that theory. Guard would have resisted
such a seizure, and the footprints would have been blurred and
dragging. The clean impressions left by this canine were not those of
an unwilling captive. I followed the tracks along the trail to the
upper end of the ravine for some time, but learning nothing further in
that way, returned again to the break in the wall. Looking attentively
at that, I at length discovered a long, fresh mark on the slippery
rock. Such a mark as might have been made by the iron-shod hoof of a
horse, scrambling up the wall in haste, and slipping dangerously on
the insecure foothold. With the recognition of this, I was scrambling
up the bank myself. Scarcely had my head reached the level of the bank
when a loud, eager whinny broke the silence. Startled, I slipped into
a thicket of scrub-oaks, and, from their friendly shelter, made a
cautious reconnoissance. Not far away, and standing in clear view, a
bay horse was tethered to the over-hanging limb of a pine tree. It did
not need a second glance for me to recognize Don, Mr. Horton's
favorite saddle-horse. That the poor creature had had a long and
tedious wait, his eager whinnying, and the pawing of his impatient
hoof, as he looked over in my direction, plainly told.

I watched him for awhile, breathlessly, and in silence, but he was far
too anxious to keep silent himself. His distress was so apparent that
I felt sorry for him, and finally decided that I might, at least,
venture to approach and speak to him. Leaving my place of concealment
I started toward him, but stopped abruptly with my heart in my mouth,
before I had taken a dozen steps, as a new sound broke the silence. A
new sound, but familiar, and doubly welcome in that wild place. It was
the sharp, excited yelping that Guard was wont to make when he had
treed game and