follow wherever Don led, so I decided to go after him. I tied
Foxie securely, removed my coat, kicked off spurs and chaps, and
remembering past unnecessary toil, fastened a red bandana to the top
of a dead snag to show me where to come up on my way out. Then I
carefully strapped my canteen and camera on my back, made doubly
secure my revolver, put on my heavy gloves, and started down. And I
realized at once that only so lightly encumbered should I have ever
ventured down the slope.

Little benches of rock, grassy on top, with here and there cedar
trees, led steeply down for perhaps five hundred feet. A precipice
stopped me. From it I heard Don baying below, and almost instantly saw
the yellow gleam of a lion in a tree-top.

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" I yelled in wild encouragement.

I felt it would be wise to look before I leaped. The Bay lay under me,
a mile wide where it opened into the great slumbering smoky canyon.
All below was chaos of splintered stone and slope, green jumble of
cedar, ruined, detached, sliding, standing cliff walls, leaning yellow
crags--an awful hole. But I could get down, and that was all I cared
for. I ran along to the left, jumping cracks, bounding over the uneven
stones with sure, swift feet, and came to where the cliff ended in
weathered slope and scaly bench.

It was like a game, going down that canyon. My heavy nailed boots
struck fire from the rocks. My heavy gloves protected my hands as I
slid and hung on and let go. I outfooted the avalanches and wherever I
came to a scaly slope or bank or decayed rock, I leaped down in sheer
delight.

But all too soon my progress was barred; once under the cliff I found
only a gradual slope and many obstacles to go round or surmount. Luck
favored me, for I ran across a runway and keeping to it made better
time. I heard Don long before I tried to see him, and yelled at
intervals to let him know I was coming. A white bank of weathered
stones led down to a clump of cedars from where Don's bay came
spurring me to greater efforts. I flew down this bank, and through an
opening saw the hound standing with fore feet against a cedar. The
branches over him swayed, and I saw an indistinct, tawny form move
downward in the air. Then succeeded the crash and rattle of stones.
Don left the tree and disappeared.

I dashed down, dodged under the cedars, threaded a maze of rocks, to
find myself in a ravine with a bare, water-worn floor. In patches of
sand showed the