“No,” he said to himself, “I will leave the rim of this mountain and get down into the canyon.”
He hastily retreated, and took a circuitous route intending to head off the deer. In due time he approached the brow of the precipitous bluff and after walking back and forth finally found a place where he believed he could work his way down into the canyon. It was a dangerous undertaking—far more so than Roderick knew—and might have proved his undoing.
He was perhaps half way down the side of the cliff, working his way back and forth, when suddenly some loose stones slipped from under his feet and away he went, sliding in a sitting position down the side of the mountain. He had sufficient presence of mind to hold his gun well away from him to prevent any possible accident from an accidental discharge. The cushioning of the snow under him somewhat slowed his descent, yet he could not stop. Down and down he went, meeting with no obstruction that might have given him a momentary foothold. Presently he saw, to his great relief of mind, that he was headed for a small fir tree that had rooted itself on a ledge near the bottom of the canyon. A moment later his feet came thump against its branches, and while the jar and shock of suddenly arrested motion were very considerable yet they were not enough to be attended with any serious consequences.
Somewhat dazed, he remained seated for a few moments. But soon he found his footing, and pulling himself together, brushed away the snow from his apparel and made sure that his gun was all right. After a glance around he picked his way down some distance farther into the canyon, and then turning to the right along a little ledge started in the direction where he expected to sight the deer higher up the hill.
Suddenly he stopped. There were the deer tracks right before him going down the gorge.
“By George,” he muttered aloud, “I did not get far enough down. However, I will follow the tracks.” And forthwith he started on the trail, cautiously but highly expectant.
The direction was westerly, but he had not gone far until the canyon made an elbow turn to the south and then a little farther on to the east. “I wonder,” said Roderick to himself, “what sort of a maze I am getting into. This canyon is more crooked than an old-fashioned worm fence or a Wyoming political boss.”
The box canyon continued to grow deeper and the rocky cliffs higher, zig-zagging first one way and then another until Roderick gave up all pretense of even guessing at the direction he was travelling.
“Strange I have never heard of this narrow box-canyon before,” he thought.
After walking briskly along for about an hour, keeping the tracks of the retreating deer in view, he suddenly came to an opening. A little valley was spread out before him, and to his amazement there were at least a hundred deer herded together in the park-like enclosure.