ep side of the ridge that thrust out into the
valley between the draw and the gulch of Dry Fork. At the stiffest
places he jumped off and led his pony. None too willingly, Ashton
followed the example set by his companion. There were some places
where he could not have avoided so doing--ledges that the old
buckskin, despite his years of mountain service, could hardly scramble
up under an empty saddle.

Long before they reached the point of the ridge, Ashton was panting
and sweating, and his handsome face was red from exertion and anger.
But his indignation at being misguided up so difficult a line of
ascent received a damper when he reached the lower end of the ridge
crest. Blake, who had waited patiently for him to clamber up the last
sharp slope, gave him a cheerful nod and pointed to the long but
fairly easy incline of the ridge crest.

"In mountain climbing, always take your stiffest ground first, when
you can," he said. "We can jog along pretty fast now."

They mounted and rode up the ridge, much of the time at a jog trot.
Before long they came to the top of High Mesa, and galloped across to
one of the ridges that lay parallel with Deep Canyon. Climbing the
ridge, they found themselves looking over into a ravine that ran down
to the right to join another ravine from the opposite direction, at
the head of Dry Fork Gulch. Blake turned and rode to the left along
the ridge, until he found a place where they could cross the ravine.
The still air was reverberating with the muffled roar of Deep Canyon.

From the ridge on the other side of the ravine, they could look down
between the scattered pines to the gaping chasm of the stupendous
canyon. But Blake rode to the right along the summit of the ridge until
they came opposite the head of Dry Fork Gulch. Here he flung the reins
over his pony's head, and dismounted. Ashton was about to do the same
when he caught sight of a wolf slinking away like a gray shadow up the
farther ravine. He reached for his rifle, and for the first time
noticed that he had failed to bring it along. In his haste to start
from camp he had left it in the tent.

"_Sacre!_" he petulantly exclaimed. "There goes twenty-five dollars!"

"How's that?" asked Blake. He looked and caught a glimpse of the wolf
just as it vanished. "Why don't you shoot?"

"Left my rifle in camp, curse the luck!"

"Keep cool," advised Blake. "It's only twenty-five dollars, and you
might have missed anyway."

"Not with m