blood is thicker than water" every time.

Having gained the bottom of the hollow inside of the cliff, he turned to
where a streak of light showed. Here was a narrow slit leading to the
greater hollow outside of the cliff. It was so small that the youth
squeezed through with difficulty and had even more trouble getting his
knapsack on the other side.

He now stood where there was a gentle slope leading to the firs growing
at the foot of the cliff. Here there was a great drift of snow, in some
spots fifteen and twenty feet high.

"I wonder if father came down in that?" he mused. "If he did he wouldn't
be apt to break any bones. But he might get smothered before he could
find his way out, especially if the fall took his breath away."

He gazed around in the drift and saw a spot where it looked as if the
snow had been disturbed. Then he saw what looked to be footprints
further on, leading among the firs.

"Hello! hello!" he called, with all the strength of his lungs. "Mr.
Porter! Where are you?"

His voice echoed along the rocks and beyond, and he waited with bated
breath for a reply, but, as before, none came.

What should he do next--go on or search the immense snowdrift for his
father's body?

He deliberated for several minutes, then moved onward.

"I must see if he is alive," he reasoned. "I can always come back for
his body later--if I have to."

The edge of the fir forest gained, Dave paused once more. Here was a
track in the snow, but whether made by a human being or a wild animal he
could not tell. Then he uttered a sharp cry and rushed forward to pick
something up.

It was a box that had contained rifle cartridges. It was empty and
practically new. Had his father possessed that and discarded it?

Suddenly he thought of something new, and pulling out his pistol fired
it off as a signal. The last echo had hardly died out when an answering
shot came back. His face lit up with joy, then grew sober again.

Perhaps the shot had come from above, from Granbury Lapham or the others
up there. But no, it had seemed to be further down--beyond the line of
firs which confronted him. At the risk of wasting too much ammunition he
fired again. But this time no signal came back.

"If it was father he'll want to save his shots--especially if his
cartridge box is empty," thought Dave. Then he resolved to push on
through the timber, calling his parent in the meanwhile.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A JOYOUS MEETING

Da