ed himself that
the young man was not dead, was not even seriously wounded. He guessed
that a fall on the rocks had merely stunned. As best he could with one
hand, he got out his pocket-flask, and finally managed to force a
little of the liquor between the clenched teeth. Presently, it took
effect. The color came back into Zeke's face, and he stirred, and
groaned. Then he sat up, resting against the veteran's arm.

Before there was time for any interchange of words between the two, a
shout aroused them to look toward the grove. They saw the marshal
dashing down the slope. Close behind him ran Cyclone Brant. Uncle Dick
lagged a little, the burden of years pressing too heavily at last. The
three came swiftly and gathered about the two on the edge of the
Slide. Dismay was writ large on their faces. The silence of the hound,
Zeke stricken and alone with the veteran, aroused their suspicion of
disaster.

"Where's Jack?" Brant demanded. His heart was in the question. The
fate of the others was of less concern to him than that of the animal
he loved.

Zeke answered, strongly enough, for now energy was flowing back into
him.

"The hound went over," he said, regretfully. "I saw him. He slipped
an' fell, an' was gone like a flash."

Brant turned away to hide his distress.

But in Zeke recollection welled. He clutched at the marshal, and drew
himself to his feet, where, after an instant, he stood firmly. His
eyes went searchingly over the barren surface of the Slide. They
dilated. Fright lined his face--then, horror. He stared wildly, his
gaze roving over all the mountain-top, once and again--and again. When
words came, they were broken, surcharged with the horrid fear that was
on him.

"Whar--whar is she--Tiny?"

His look went to the four men in turn, piteously pleading. Each of the
three met the look and answered it by a shake of the head. But the
veteran could not endure the anguish in the lover's eyes. His own
dropped. He did not shake his head. Zeke strove for courage.

"Whar is she?" he demanded, at length. His voice was more composed
now, but his eyes were flaming.

The veteran answered very softly, but without any attempt at evasion.

"I saw her go, Zeke--over the cliff. Thet little dawg o' your'n had a
holt on her skirt. But he hadn't the heft to keep her from goin'. The
dawg did the best he knew how. But 'twa'n't no use, an' he went, too.
I was too fur off to grab her. I reckon she fainted. She didn't
scr