to
fire a second time, but in a twinkling the bear leaped over a low rock
and disappeared in the brushwood. Listening, Dave heard it lumbering
away, growling with rage and pain as it went.

"Hello!" came a faint voice. "Is that you, Lapham?"

"No, it is somebody else," answered Dave. He could scarcely speak, he
was so agitated. "Where are you?"

"Here, near the cliff. I am wounded, and I--I----" The voice died out
completely.

"I'm coming!" shouted Dave. "Just let me know where you are."

For a minute there was no answer, and Dave continued to call. Then came
what was half call and half moan. With ears on the alert, the boy
followed up the sounds and quickly came in sight of a man, wrapped up in
a fur overcoat and crouched in a heap between two rocks at the base of
the cliff. He held a pistol in his hand, but the weapon was empty.

For the instant man and boy faced each other--the former too weak to
speak and the latter too agitated to do so. Dave's heart was beating
like a trip-hammer and for the time being his surroundings were
completely forgotten.

"Are you--are you----" he began. "Are you David Porter?" he blurted out.

"Yes," was the gasped-out reply. "Yo--you----"

"And you don't know me! Oh, father!"

"Eh? What's that?" asked the man, rising up slightly.

"You don't know me? But of course you don't--if you didn't get the
letters and telegrams. I am your son, Dave Porter."

"My son? Wha--what do you mean? I--er--have no son. I had one, years and
years ago, but----" Mr. Porter was too weak to go on. He sat staring at
Dave in bewilderment.

"You lost him, I know. He was stolen from you. Well, I am that son. I
have been looking for you for months. I found Uncle Dunston first, and
then we sent letters and cablegrams to you, but no answer came back.
Then I started out to hunt you up--and here I am." Dave was on his knees
and holding his father's blood-stained hand in his own. "I see you are
hurt; I'll----"

"My son? My son?" queried Mr. Porter, like one in a dream. "Can this be
true?" He gazed unsteadily at Dave. Then he closed his eyes and went off
into a dead faint. The youth was startled, for he saw that his parent
might be dying. His hand was hurt and he had scratches on his ear, and
one knee of his trousers was blood-stained.

"I must help him--he must not die!" thought Dave, and set to work with
feverish haste, doing all that was possible under the circumstances.
From his shirt he tore off the