The man paddled on without looking back. Rocks repeated the cry several times, but without apparent effect, and then gave up in disgust. "I'll allow this is onery!" he growled, as he sat down and lighted his pipe once more. "Dog my cats ef it ain't!" Frank was disheartened. "Poor little Fay!" he murmured, sadly. "What will become of her?" "We'll find her," declared Old Rocks, grimly. "We'll find her ef we hev ter tramp clean round this yar lake ter strike ther trail o' them p'izen Blackfeet!" "Do you think we can ever find their trail?" "Wa-al, I'll allow! Ain't we got ter find 'em? Ain't they got ter come ter shore somewhar? You bet yer boots! Old Rocks is on ther warpath, an' ther measly varmints want ter look out!" The guide seemed very much in earnest, which gave Frank fresh hope. The boy was ready to spend any length of time in the search for the missing child. Having smoked and meditated a short time, Old Rocks arose. "Come," he said, and he struck out once more. Along the shore they went, the eyes of the guide always searching for the trail. Sometimes they were forced back from the water by steep bluffs and precipices, but the guide missed no places where the Indians could have landed. It was about midway in the forenoon that the trail was struck. The canoes were found craftily concealed, and in the soft ground near the lake were the imprints of tiny feet. "Thar!" cried Old Rocks, looking at the marks; "thet shows we ain't on a wild-goose chase. Now we don't hold up none whatever till we overtakes ther p'izen skunks an' rescues ther gal. You hear me!" [Illustration: "The grizzly folded Frank in his embrace, crushing the lad against his shaggy breast." (See page 205)] CHAPTER XXXI. A FIGHT WITH GRIZZLIES. Frank found Old Rocks a hard man to follow, and the guide was amazed by the endurance of the boy. It was long past midday when Rocks sat down on a fallen tree, and filled his pipe. "Say," he drawled, surveying his companion, "you beat all ther tenderfut kids I've ever seen, dog my cats ef you don't!" "How is that?" asked Frank, who was glad to have a few moments' respite. "What do you mean?" "Wa-al, I hev bin expectin' all along as how you'd peg out, but I'm derned ef you don't seem fresh as a daisy now!" "Oh, I am good for a few miles more," said the boy, smiling. Rocks nodded. "Thet's whatever. You've got buckram; but I know yer ain't got sand. Tenderfeet never has any." "I don't suppose you have ever found any exceptions?" "Derned few! Now I've got somethin' ter say." "Say it." "It's plain these yar red varmints are makin' a run fer it, kinder thinkin' they might be follered. It's liable ter be several days afore they're overtook." "Well?" "Wa-al, we ain't fitted fer such a tramp." "What's that?" cried the boy in dismay. "You do not think of giving it up, do you?" "Nary bit; but I kinder 'lowed you might feel thet way." "I guess not!"