would keep out of reach of such a toy, but he concluded that he might
possibly use it to carve some sort of foothold in the rock. The idea of
cutting the granite was out of the question, but there might be strata
of softer stone which he could dig into. It was a forlorn hope, in a
forlorn cause, and it proved futile. At his first effort the knife's
single blade snapped off short, and he threw the useless handle away.

Darkness fell some time before the cool night air penetrated the
fissure; when it did so the cold seemed likely to be added to his other
physical discomforts. In the higher altitudes the nights were distinctly
chilly even in mid-summer, and he had on only a light outing shirt,
above his waist. As the hour grew late, the cold increased in severity
until Wade was forced to walk up and down his narrow prison in the
effort to keep warm. He had just turned to retrace his steps, on one
such occasion, when his ears caught the soft pat-pat of a footfall on
the ground above. He instantly became motionless and tensely alert,
wondering which of his enemies was so stealthily returning, and for what
reason.

He thought it not unlikely that Moran had altered his purpose and come
back to shoot him while he slept. Brave though he was, the idea of being
shot down in such a manner made his flesh crawl. Stooping, he picked up
a fragment of rock; although he realized the futility of the weapon, it
was all he had. Certainly, whoever approached was moving with the utmost
stealth, which argued an attack of some kind. Drawing back the hand that
held the stone, the cattleman shrank into a corner of the fissure and
waited. Against the starlit sky, he had an excellent view of the opening
above him, and possibly by a lucky throw the stone would serve against
one assailant, at least.

The pat-pat-pat drew nearer and stopped, at last, on the extreme edge
of the hole. A low, long-drawn sniff showed that this was no human
enemy. If the sound had been louder, Wade would have guessed that it was
made by a bear; but as it was he guessed the prowler to be a
mountain-lion. He had little fear of such a beast; most of them were
notorious cowards unless cornered, and when presently a pair of glowing
eyes peered down into the fissure, he hurled the stone at them with all
his might. His aim was evidently true, for with a snarl of pain the
animal drew back.

But just as amongst the most pacific human races there are some brave
spirits, so amo