"It's the Buckhorn Mine. They always give them a name."
"That'll do as well as any. The ledge'll stay here till you come for it. Nobody around here is likely to steal it away from you. But there's more ledge than mine just now."
So there was, and Steve's countenance fell a little as he and Murray again took up their burden and began to toil under it from "stair to stair" down the rocky terraces of the grand chasm.
"We won't go any farther than we can help without a horse," said Murray at last. "And there's the big-horn to carry in."
"Murray, that big-horn! Just look yonder!"
It was not far to look, and the buck they were carrying seemed to come to the ground of his own accord.
"Cougar!" exclaimed Murray.
"The biggest painter I ever saw," said Steve, "and he is getting ready to spring."
The American panther, or, as Murray called him, cougar, is not so common among the mountains as he is in some parts of the forest-covered lowlands, but the vicinity of the table-land above, with its herds of deer, might account for this one. There he was now, at all events, preparing to take possession of the game on the top of that bowlder without asking leave of anybody.
"Quick, Steve! Forward, while he's got his eyes on the antelope. We may get a shot at him."