At the end of a minute or two he saw, with joy unspeakable, the signs of returning life. Victor was on his back, as if dead, when he partly opened his eyes; but there was no expression in them. His rescuer was scrutinizing the lad's face and noted the awakening of consciousness. Straightening up, he said with a sigh:
"He's all right now; but he couldn't have come nigher pegging out."
"You have saved him! You have saved him! Oh, how can I thank you?"
And yielding to the reaction, George sobbed like a child. The stranger looked at him without speaking, and gave his attention again to the prostrate form. Victor speedily regained his senses, and, with a little help from the man, sat up. He stared wonderingly at his new friend and then at his brother, striving manfully to master his emotions. With the waggery that cropped up at the most unexpected times, he turned to George with the question:
"Are you crying because he saved my life?"
"I'm crying for joy. I had given up all hope."
"So had I. I tell you I came pretty near being a goner. Please help me up."
George took his hand and almost lifted Victor to his feet. As he came up he made a grimace, because of the pain that wrenched him. He was so battered and bruised that the wonder was that several bones had not been broken.
"Where's my rifle?" suddenly asked Victor, looking about him.
"In the bottom of the cañon, I reckon."