slope where it tired them to force their own way. They rested many
times, but finally accomplished the ascent and passed over into
the valley beyond. There, disappointment awaited them. The most
careful search failed to show the first sign of a beaver and they
had their labor for their pains. The toil of climbing the mountain
peak was so severe that the hunters concluded to take the longer
route home. Their steeds had been pushed so hard, that they were
permitted to set their own pace on the return. This naturally enough
was a deliberate walk, while their riders talked, laughed, jested
and occasionally made some remark on the magnificent scenery by
which they were surrounded. There was no call for haste, and they
knew nothing of what had taken place in camp after their departure;
otherwise, they might have felt more impatience to rejoin their
friends.

All at once, the hunters descried four Indian warriors in the path
in front. They were splendidly mounted, their hair ornamented with
stained eagle feathers, their ugly countenances daubed with yellow,
black and crimson paint, and they were fully armed. Their appearance
showed they were on the war path.

Such undoubtedly being the case, a sight of the braves was a challenge
to the hunters who accepted it without a second's hesitation.

Pausing not a moment to consult on their plan of action, Kit and
his companions spurred their horses to a dead run, with the purpose
of bringing them within range of their rifles, but the steeds of
the dusky foes were fleet of foot and they sped away like the wind.

The pursuit was a furious one, until the flying fugitives shot by a