it to make a false trail into the northwest. Those formless tracks
ahead of him meant that one of the Indian maiden's feet was wrapped
with a bit of cloth or fur to protect it from the cold.

Rod soon perceived that the flight of the outlaw and his captive was
now much more rapid, and he quickened his own pace. The chasm grew
wilder. At times it appeared impassable, but always the trail of the
fugitives led straight to some hidden cleft through which the boy
followed, holding his breath in tense expectancy of what might happen
at any instant.

Suddenly Rod stopped. From ahead of him he was sure that he had heard
a sound. He scarcely breathed while he listened. But there came no
repetition of the noise. Had some animal, a fox or a wolf, perhaps,
set a stone rolling down one of the precipitous walls of the chasm? He
went on slowly, listening, watching. A few paces more and he stopped
again. There was a faint, suspicious odor in the air; a turn around
the end of a huge mass of rock and his nostrils were filled with it,
the pungent odor of smoke mingled with the sweet scent of burning
cedar!

There was a fire ahead of him. More than that, it was not a gunshot
away!

For a space of sixty seconds he stood still, nerving himself for the
final step. His resolution was made. He would creep upon the outlaw
and shoot him down. There would be no warning, no quarter, no parley.
Foot by foot he advanced, as stealthily as a fox. The odor of smoke
came to him more plainly; over his head he saw thin films of it
floating lazily up the chasm. It came from beyond another of those