Dol made a gurgling attempt to answer, but his voice rattled and died
away in his throat. His eyes grew decidedly leaky.

"Say, Cyrus!" interrupted the man who had befriended him and now proved
his champion, "let the youngster get breath and tell his story from
start to finish before you blow him up. I guess he wasn't much to blame;
and if he was, he has suffered for it. He found his way here not quite
half an hour ago, so played out from wandering through the forest that
he was ready to drop in his tracks. And I tell you he showed his grit
too; for he managed to brace up and keep on his feet, though he was as
exhausted a kid as ever I saw."

The "kid," forgiving this objectionable term because of the soothing
allusion to a trying time when he had behaved like a man, winked and
gulped to get rid of his emotion, and twisted his elbows out of Cyrus's
hold. The latter lost his angry look, and released them.

"I must fire three shots to let Neal and Uncle Eb know I've found you,"
he said. "We parted company a while ago, and they're beating about the
woods in another direction. Whoever first came upon any trace of you was
to fire his rifle three times."

The signal was instantly given.

More far-reaching "Coo-hoos!" were exchanged. Ere long Neal was beside
his brother, looking at him with eyes which showed the same tendency to
leak that Dol's had done a while ago, and battling with a desire to
squeeze the wanderer in a breathless hug. He relieved his feelings
instead by "blowing up" Dol with withering fire and a rough choke in his
voice.

But when, in response to an invitation from the genial camper whom Cyrus
and Joe called "Doc," the whole party, guides included, had gathered
around the camp-fire in the big log hut, and Dol told his story from
start to finish, he became the hero of the evening.

His only fault had been a rash venturing into the unknown; and well it
was that he had not followed the unknown to his death.

"Why, boy!" exclaimed Cyrus, with a strong shudder, when Dol had
described the false trail which led him to the foot of the crag, "that
wasn't a human trail at all. It was a deer-road. The deer spend their
day up in the mountains, and come down to the ponds at evening to feed
and drink. Now, a buck or doe in its regular journeys to and fro will
follow one line, to which it becomes accustomed. Perhaps fifty others,
seeing the ground trodden, will run in the same track. And there you
have your well