Alden could not help smiling when it looked for a moment as if Dick had suddenly reached the end of his rope. He came opposite a mass of rocks, amid which the twisted pines pushed out in all directions, though ever striving to reach the vertical with their tops pointed toward the zenith. To the right and left, the flinty boundary extended beyond sight. Without hesitation Dick turned to the left and walked briskly for a dozen rods. The barrier still interposed. He stopped, wheeled about and retraced his steps. He was searching for an opening or small pass, and was not satisfied to approach any closer to the Indian signal. Within less than the distance named, to the right of his first turn, he found that for which he was looking. A gap showed and he entered it as if it were a stable door that had been opened for him. “What’s the use of placing a rider on your back, Dick?” asked the delighted Alden. “Better to give you the mail pouch and tell you to deliver it at the next station. But then mighty few ponies know as much as you.” How far this path led remained to be seen. But it had not been followed far when Alden met an experience that was as unique as unexpected. The appearance of the gorge suggested that a torrent of water poured through it, when the snows melted or the floods descended. Its width varied from fifty feet to two or three times that extent, and the irregular walls rose on each side almost as many feet. If the course lasted, it could not be more favorable. The bottom of this peculiar ravine was broken at intervals by stones, and then only pebbles showed. It would have been easy for Dick to dash through on the gallop which seemed to be his natural gait, for it was comparatively level, but he chose of his own accord to walk. He was traveling round instead of crossing lots, as he had been accustomed to do, and the incident promised to prove another illustration of the proverb. And then came the surprise. Dick had turned one of the many corners, his head dipping with each vigorous step, when he flung up his nose and snorted. The alert Alden in the same instant saw an Indian warrior coming toward him. The redskin was a duplicate of the one who had launched an arrow at the youth several miles back. He had the same squat, sturdy figure, the coarse black hair dangling about his bare shoulders, and growing low upon his forehead, the naked chest, the frowsy hunting shirt of deerskin, with leggings and dilapidated moccasins. He carried a knife in the girdle about his waist, and his right hand grasped a heavy bow as long as himself. Behind his left shoulder the feathered tips of a number of arrows showed where he carried his quiver. Neither the countenance nor chest displayed any of the paint of which the American Indians are fond. It may be doubted whether the vari-colored daubs would have added to the hideousness of that face, which was broad with protuberant cheek bones, an immense mouth, low forehead and piercing black eyes.