“I want to get back to Mabel,” said the boy, doggedly. “It must be pretty near, now, Ranger.... And when a brave died in battle they tied him on his faithful horse and brought him back to camp, didn’t they? Gee ... I betcher all the squaws cried like _any_thing.... Tied on his faithful horse.... Say, Ranger, you know I think that’s lot more exciting than just hearses and hacks, don’t you?” “_Much_ more exciting, old son!” His heart warmed within him--the game little sport, plodding through the damp darkness, aching-tired, hungry. “When my uncle died, Aunt Lizzie, she had an awful stylish hearse and there was eleven hacks; she hated to pay out such a lot of money but she said nobody could never say she didn’t give him a stylish funeral.... It was a grand hearse, all right, but I think ‘tied on his faithful horse....’” He was silent then, for he had to stop and peer owlishly through the darkness and take hold of trees and get down on his hands and knees and feel for the path. “It’s all right, Ranger! We’re keeping on the trail, all right!” He got up and went forward again, inching his way. “Say, I don’t guess Edna could ever--” he broke off at a disturbing thought. “Say, Ranger, you know, Edna’s an awful funny girl ... she just won’t _believe_ a person. If I tell her about riding Mabel and fighting fires and finding trails in the dark, she’ll just laugh and say ‘_Uh_-huh! _Uh_-huh! Yes, you did! Yes, you did _not_!’ I was just wondering ... if you should ever come to see my Aunt Lizzie and me and my cousin Edna, maybe you could kind of--drop a word--” “I could tell that Edna girl things that would make her hair grow upside down,” said Dean Wolcott, heartily. “I could tell her things I’ve seen you do, and dangers I’ve seen you experiencing that would keep her awake nights! I could--and I would, with pleasure.” (As long as he said could and would instead of can and will, he wasn’t lying to the child; when they were fed and bathed and rested he would tell him about his Aunt Lizzie and his cousin.) “Scout, let me go ahead, now. You walk behind me and hang on to my belt. It’s too dark for you to--” But the boy gave a little chuckle of delighted satisfaction. “Well, if _you_ told her....” Although they could not see each other, he turned his head and spoke to him over his shoulder. His voice was hoarse and he choked a little. “Oh, gee--_golly_, Ranger, I do like you! I _do_--” He slipped, and struggled to catch himself, battled for an instant while Dean Wolcott sprang toward him, toppled over the edge of the slippery trail into the black cañon. He screamed as he fell. It seemed to the young man that the long, thin scream of terror would never stop, but when it stopped suddenly, utterly, as if it had been turned off by machinery, it was worse. “Scout! Oh, Scout! Are you all right? I’ll come after you, Scout! Scout! Can you call, so I can find you? Oh, Scout!”