“Hold him!” cried Doctor Dan. “Don’t let him escape, Dick, or our troubles will never end!”
It was too late.
Mudd was on the run already.
In his half dazed condition from the whisky he had aboard his steps were somewhat uncertain as he went dashing along the trail.
Suddenly he staggered perilously near the edge of the precipice; the disintegrated rock was not able to bear his weight, and it gave way beneath him.
Throwing up his hands with a frightful yell, Martin Mudd went rolling down into the valley.
With bated breath Dick and Doctor Dan watched him. The end came when with a splash which they could just hear the wretched man dropped into the lake.
Doubtless he was dead before he struck the water, for he never rose again.
“Oh, Doctor! You have saved my life! But poor Charley is a goner!” gasped Dick. “Come—come!”
A horse was pounding furiously down the trail.