"Now you're out, how am I ter make it?"
It was easy to ask this question, but not so easy to answer it. Rasco tried to run up the spongy incline and sank to his knees.
"Ain't no use; I'll try a new game," he growled.
Fortunately, Rasco was in the habit of carrying, in cowboy fashion, a lariat suspended from his belt. This he now unwound and with a dexterous throw caught the outer loop over a sturdy bush growing over one of the perpendicular sides of the opening.
Testing the lariat, to make certain it was firm, he began to ascend hand over hand. This was no light task, yet it was speedily accomplished, and with a sigh of relief he found himself safe once more.
But in the meantime the horse had trotted off, alarmed by a black snake in the long grass. Rasco saw this snake a minute later, but the reptile slunk out of sight before he could get a chance to dispatch it.
The trail of the horse led again back to the ravine, but not in the direction of the cave. Bound to secure the animal before rejoining Pawnee Brown, Rasco loped along in pursuit.
He was in the ravine, and had just caught sight of his steed once more, when he heard several pistol shots coming from a distance. These were the shots fired by Pawnee Brown at the wildcat. He listened intently, but no more shots followed, and being below the level of the surrounding country, he was unable to locate the discharge of firearms.
"Something is wrong somewhar," he mused. "Can thet be Pawnee shootin', or is it Dick an' the others?"
He secured the horse and began to ascend out of the ravine, when a murmur of voices broke upon his ears. One of the voices sounded familiar and he soon recognized it as that of Louis Vorlange.