d
his two men, who would have by far the roughest going, were not to
report until sundown at the Siddon cabin.

From the poplar, Uncle Dick and the deputies were able, with great
difficulty, to follow the tracks of the outlaw and his prisoner toward
the south for a full mile. But at this point, an expanse of
outcropping rock baffled them completely. Search as they would, there
was no least sign of footsteps anywhere. After an hour of futile
questing, they gave up in despair, and hurried to the rendezvous at
the Woodruff Gate.

The marshal and his men had already reached the gate, and Stone had
wherewith to give the distraught grandfather new hope.

"I came on their tracks a mile below where you lost them," he
explained. "They still keep to the south. We followed as far as the
sand bar below Sandy Creek Falls."

"Come on!" Uncle Dick cried, fiercely. "Let's arter 'im this-yer
minute."

The marshal shook his head at the old man's enthusiasm.

"We're not much better off yet," he declared. "We found the place
where he camped last night. 'Twasn't far. I reckon the girl made his
going as slow as she could. She naturally would." Uncle Dick nodded
somberly. "But the trouble is, the trail ends at the sand bar--ends
absolutely."

"We'll find hit ag'in," Uncle Dick exclaimed, stoutly. "We jest got to
find hit. Come on!"

The marshal urged the other to rest in preparation for the hard
climb--down the ridge, and then up the sharp slopes and ledges of the
mountainside. But the old man would have none of it. So, straightway,
the two moved off, leaving the others, less hardy, to repose, and in
due time they came to the bar below Sandy Creek Falls.

High among the embattled cliffs of Stone Mountain's eastern end, Sandy
Creek races in tumultuous course. The limpid stream cascades in
vertical sheen of silver from ledge to ledge. It writhes with
ceaseless noisy complainings through the twisting ways of
bowlder-strewn gorges. Here and there, in some placid pool, it seems
to pause, languid, resting from its revels of flight. Such a pool lay
at the foot of the longest fall. A barrier of sand circled from the
cliff as the brim for this bowl of the waters. To this point, Marshal
Stone and Uncle Dick were now come. The tracks were plainly
discernible in the sand, along the edge of the pool. There were the
huge misshapen outlines of the outlaw's bare feet, deep-sunken from
the heavy weight of the man. Beside them showed the slender p