As Bob said this he ran his hand along the ground, and waved it toward the “divide” in front of him. He knew his friend had gone that way, for he could see the prints of his feet in the soft earth. He hardly expected that the dogs would obey him, for they had never been called upon to do such a thing before. Besides, the faithful animals had been but scantily fed during the last few days, and they were in no condition for work. But they took up the trail, nevertheless, and followed it straight to the “divide,” up which they scrambled as rapidly as their strength would permit, Bob keeping close at their heels.
When he reached the top he was all out of breath, and had to stop and sit down; but the dogs began the descent at once, and soon were out of sight in the bushes. Five minutes later they gave tongue joyously, and their loud yelps were mingled with another sound, which made Bob tremble, and wonder if his own mind were not wandering. It was a human voice. He was sure of it; but yet he could not make himself believe that he was not mistaken, for it sounded so strange and unreal. He could not catch the first words it uttered, but presently he heard it say, in strong, cheery tones:
“Them must be his huntin’ dogs. Poor things, they look to be pretty nigh tuckered out. Let’s put ’em into the wagon with their master.”
“Who-whoop!” shouted Bob.
He put all his remaining strength into that shout, but his voice was as weak as his body, and he hardly expected that it would reach the ears of the men below him. It did, however, and, after a moment or two of silence and suspense, an answering shout came back to him.
“Hold on a minute, please!” cried Bob. “I need assistance!”
He staggered to his feet and stumbled down the “divide.” It seemed to him that he never would reach the bottom—at least, alive, for now and then his strength would all leave him, and he would go rolling down the steep declivity, until he was stopped by some log, rock or thicket of bushes. It was in this way that he made his appearance among the men who were waiting for him—falling headlong through the willows that lined the base of the hill, and landing in the road all in a heap. They hastened to pick him up; but when they had taken one look at his face, they dropped him as if he had been a coal of fire.
“It’s Bob Howard!” gasped one.
“Or his ghost,” said another.
“I am no ghost, boys,” was the faint reply. “I am Bob Howard—or all there is left of him. I went down Lost River Canyon ever so long ago, and I have just got out.”