426 



RFXREATION 



no mistake,"! admitted, "and what makes 

 it worse, our dinner is at the bottom of this 

 infernal gulch. Come, let ns be moving; 

 the breeze from the snowfields chills me. 

 Let us hit her trail now while it is fresh." 



This was a simple proposition to make, 

 but a difficult one to carry into execution; 

 for to all appearances that trail began upon 

 the other side of the chasm, and there was 

 no bridge in sight by which we could cross. 

 Big Pete carefully put a cork-stopper in his 

 pipe, extinguishing the fire without wasting 

 the unconsumed contents; he then carefully 

 put his briarwood away and began to uncoil 

 a lariat from around his middle. As he 

 loosened the braided rawhide from his 

 waist his gaze was roaming over the oppo- 

 site rocks. Presently he fixed his attention 

 upon a pinnacle which reared its cube-like 

 form above the top of the opposite side of 

 the chasm; the latter was of itself much 

 higher than the brink upon which we stood. 

 Swinging the loop around his head he sent 

 it whistling across the chasm, where it 

 settled and encircled the projecting stone, 

 the honda striking the face of the cliff with a 

 sullen thud. The rope tightened, but when 

 we both threw our weight on our end of the 

 lariat to try it, the cube-like pinnacle moved 

 on its base. 



"I oughter knowed better than to try to 

 lasso a piece of slide rock," said Pete, in 

 disgusted tones, as he cast the end of the 

 braided rawhide loose and watched it for a 

 moment dangling down the opposite side 

 of the canyon. 



" Now, Le-Loo, we must get over this hole 

 or lose the best lariat in the Rocky Moun- 

 tains. We kin look for that gal's trail on 

 this side, for even if she be an Ecutock, I'll 

 bet my crooker bone 'gainst a lock of her 

 hair that she can't jump th' hole, an' I'll 

 wager my left ear that she's got a trail an' a 

 bridge somewhar — 'nless she turns bird and 

 flops over things like this," he added, with 

 a troubled look. 



"Pete," said I, "never mind the bird 

 business. I'll admit that there is a lot of 

 explanation due us before we can rightly 

 judge on the events of the past few weeks; 

 still I think it may all be explained in a 

 rational manner; but what if it cannot ? We 

 have but one trip to make through this 

 world, and the more we see the more we 



will know at the end of the journey. I am 

 as curious as a prong-horned antelope when 

 there is a mystery, so put your nose to the 

 ground, my good friend, and find the spot 

 where this Mr. Wehrwolf, witch, bear or 

 girl flies the canyon, and maybe, like the 

 husband of the Witch of Fife, we may find 

 the 'black crook shell,' and with its aid fly 

 out of this 'lum.'" 



"I believe your judication is sound, 

 Le-Loo; stay where you be an' if she hain't 

 a witch I'll bet my front tooth agin the 

 string of her little moccasin that I'll find the 

 bridge, and I'll swear by my grandmother's 

 hind leg that that little wasp will pay fur our 

 sheep yit." 



As Pete finished these remarks there was 

 a sudden and astonishing change in his 

 appearance. His head fell forward, his 

 shoulders drooped, his back bowed and his 

 knee bent. It was no longer the upright 

 statuesque Pete the Mountaineer, but Peter 

 the Trailer, all of whose faculties were con- 

 centrated upon the ground. With a swing- 

 ing gait the human bloodhound traveled 

 swiftly and silently along the edge of the 

 crevasse, noting every bunch of moss, frag- 

 ment of stone, drift of snow or bit of moist 

 earth, reading the shorthand notes of 

 Nature with an ease and facility which far 

 excelled the ability of our court stenog- 

 raphers to read their own notes when the 

 latter are a few hours old. But a short time 

 had elapsed before I heard a shout, and, 

 hurrying to the place where my big friend 

 was seated, I inquired, "Any luck?" 



" Tha's as you may call it. Here is wha's 

 tha' gal jumped," he replied, pointing to 

 some marks on the stone which were imper- 

 ceptible to me, "an' tha's wha' she landed," 

 he continued, pointing to a slight ledge upon 

 the face of the opposite cliff at least twenty 

 feet distant. "She's a jumper, an' no mis- 

 take — guess I might as well have my front 

 tooth pulled, fur I've lost my bet," solilo- 

 quized the trailer, as he sat on the edge of 

 the cliff, with his legs hanging over the 

 frightful chasm. 



The ledge indicated by Big Pete as the 

 landing place of the phenomenal jumper 

 might possibly have offered a foothold for 

 a bighorn or goat, but I could not believe 

 that any human being could jump twenty 

 feet to a crumbling trifle of a ledge on the 



