“Where are you, Roger?” he called, unable to see anything of the boy, although a little way down the sheer slope he caught sight of the dead sheep, just where it had fallen, after slipping over the edge of the opposite grassy plateau.
“Down below here, making my way to the game,” came the reassuring answer.
“Are you badly hurt?” demanded Dick.
“Nothing that counts for much; and I’m bound to get my sheep, now I’m in the hole. You can’t really blame me, Dick.”
“Never mind about that now,” the one above told him; “but do you know how you are ever going to get up out of that place again?”
“There’s only one way that I can see, Dick—you must go back, and, when the men come along, borrow that rope Jasper Williams always carries with him. Perhaps he will come back with you, and help drag me up—after I’ve saved the horns.”
Knowing how determined Roger could be, once he had set his mind on a thing, Dick did not attempt to argue with him, though he believed the other was taking advantage of his position.
“Now I can see you, Roger, and, by the way you are advancing along the bottom of the crevice, I reckon you must be all right. Yes, I will go back and get the rope. Perhaps some of the men may want to try mutton for their supper to-night, and, if so, they can haul the carcass of your sheep up out of the hole.”
“I’ll try to be ready for you when you come back,” called Roger, waving his hunting-knife toward his chum; for by that time he had reached the spot where his quarry lay, and was evidently in a big hurry to set to work upon the pair of wonderful, massive horns.
Dick went back over the rocky trail until he reached the pass, where he found the two horses just as he had left them. Voices close at hand gave the welcome news that the other members of the exploring party were approaching; and, even as he looked, the foremost came in sight around a bend in the pass.