Dave rode through this not very cheerful place. He had been keeping his
eyes open for a sight of Len Molick, but had caught no further glimpse of
the bully whom he suspected.

"Hit it up, Crow! Hit it up!" Dave called to his black horse, who was
going along a not very safe trail amid the rocks and stones.

Dave was about half way through the place when the silence, undisturbed
save by the rattle of Crow's hoofs, was suddenly broken by a cry.

"Help! Help!" Dave heard uttered in somewhat weak accents. "Help!"

The young cowboy was startled for a moment. He reined in his horse
sharply, and looked about. He could see nothing, and the silence seemed
more pronounced after the echo of the appeal for aid had died away.

"Hello!" Dave called. "Who are you, and what do you want? Where are you?"
he asked, for he could see no one.

"Over here. To your right. I can see you, but you can't see me. I'm down
behind a rock. I'm caught, and hanging over a gully. Wait, I'll toss up my
handkerchief. Watch for it!"

Dave looked as nearly as he could tell in the direction of the voice. An
instant later something white flashed up in the air, and fell down softly.
Crow started violently.