But when, in response to an invitation from the genial camper whom Cyrus
and Joe called "Doc," the whole party, guides included, had gathered
around the camp-fire in the big log hut, and Dol told his story from
start to finish, he became the hero of the evening.

His only fault had been a rash venturing into the unknown; and well it
was that he had not followed the unknown to his death.

"Why, boy!" exclaimed Cyrus, with a strong shudder, when Dol had
described the false trail which led him to the foot of the crag, "that
wasn't a human trail at all. It was a deer-road. The deer spend their
day up in the mountains, and come down to the ponds at evening to feed
and drink. Now, a buck or doe in its regular journeys to and fro will
follow one line, to which it becomes accustomed. Perhaps fifty others,
seeing the ground trodden, will run in the same track. And there you
have your well-used path, which looks as if it was made by men's feet!

"You may thank your lucky star, Dol, every hour of this night, that the
false trail didn't lead you away--away--higher--higher--up the mountain,
until you dropped in your tracks, and died there alone, as others have
done before."

A shocked hush fell upon the group around the camp-fire. Even the guides
were silent. But the fragrant birchen logs sputtered and glowed, darting
out playful tongues of flame. They seemed to call upon everybody to
dismiss gloomy thoughts of what might have been; to crack jokes, sing
songs, tell yarns, and be as merry as befitted men who had a log hut for
a shelter, fresh whiffs of forest air stealing to them through an open
doorway, and such a camp-fire.