He deliberately rested and fostered his breath, not a trifle of which
had been jolted in violence from his body. Presently he raised his
voice and called out, as cheerfully as possible:

"Ship ahoy! Hullo--Miss Laughing Water!"

For a moment there was no response. Beth was to utterly overcome to
speak. She hardly dared believe it was his call she heard, issuing up
from the tomb. She feared that her hope, her frantic imagination, her
wish to have it so, had conjured up a voice that had no genuine
existence. Her lips moved, but made no audible sound. She trembled
violently. Van called again, with more of his natural power.

"Hullo! Hullo! Miss Beth--are you up there on the trail?"

"Oh, yes! Oh! what shall I do?" cried Beth in a sudden outburst of
relief and pent-up emotions. "Tell me what to do!"

Van knew she was rather near at hand. The bridge and trail were
certainly no more than twenty-five feet above his head. He could make
her hear with little effort.

"Brace up and keep your nerve," he instructed. "We're O.K. up to date.
Just ride ahead till you come to the flat. Let Elsa hold your mare.
Can you hear me plainly?"

"Oh! yes--yes--then what next?" replied the worried girl.

Van resumed calmly: "You'll find a rawhide rope on Elsa's saddle. Come
back with that, on foot. Then I'll tell you what to do. Don't try to