ce of rock.
He shuddered as he watched, fascinated even against himself. Deprived
of sight, the man's whole body seemed alert with an instinct that
served him in its stead. His movements were like those of some
cuttlefish, reaching out blindly with its long feelers and drawing
itself up by the power of its tentacles.

He shouted a last warning. "Your last chance!" he cried; and now his
aim was true, and his purpose inflexible.

The only answer was a hurried movement on the part of the climbing
man.

Tresler's finger was on the trigger, while his eyes were fixed on his
mark. But the hammer did not fall; the final compression of the hand
was stayed, while horror leapt into the eyes so keenly looking over
the sight. Something had happened up there on the face of the cliff.
The man had slipped! One foot shot out helplessly, as the frantic
climber struggled for those last few steps before the shot came. He
wildly sought to recover himself, but the fatal jolt carried the
weight of his body with it, and wrenched the other foot from its hold.
For the fraction of a second the man below became aware of the
clinging hands, as they desperately held to the rock, and then he
dropped his gun and clapped his hands over his ears as a piercing
shriek rang out. He could not witness any more. He only heard, in
spite of his stopped ears, the lumping of a soft body falling; he saw,
though his eyes were closed almost on the instant, a huddled figure
pitch dully upon the edge of the plateau and disappear below. It all
passed in a flash.

Then silence reigned. And when he opened his eyes there was no
horrible sight, nothing seemed to have been disturbed. It had gone; no
trace was left, not a tatter of cloth, not a spot of blood, nothing.

He knew. His imaginary vision of the old-time trapper had been enacted
before his very eyes. All that remained of Julian Marbolt was
lying--down there.

* * * * *

Fyles and Tresler were standing in the valley below. They were gazing
on the mangled remains of the rancher. Fyles had removed the piece of
red blanket from the dead man's face, and held it up for inspection.

"Um!" he grunted. "The game's played out."

"There's more of that up there in the hut," said Tresler.

"Breed blanket," commented Fyles, folding it up and carefully
bestowing it in his pocket. Then he turned and gazed down the yawning
valley. It was a wonderful place, a mighty rift extending for mile