"My habit was to set them powerful steel traps to catch mountain lions and the fur animals I wanted for pelts. Then, every few days, I'd go the round and shoot the critters that had been caught in 'em. Wall, as I was goin' toward whar one of them big traps was. I heard sech a pitiful cryin'. Good God, but I was wild wi' fear, an' I ran like wolves was arter me. I'd a notion our baby gal was catched in it. An' thar she was, sure enough, but not hurt. Instead she was down on the ground wi' her arms around a little black bear cub that had been catched hours before and was all torn and bleedin'. "The fight was gone out o' him, but he wa'n't dead yet. It was our little Meg who was doin' the cryin'. Clingin' to the little fellow, not heedin' the blood, her sobbin' was pitiful to hear. I picked her up, an' I ain't 'shamed to be tellin' you that I was cryin' myself along about that time. "'Take him out, Pa,' my little gal was beggin'. 'Maybe he'll get well, Pa.' "So I opened the great steel jaws of that trap and took out the little cub bear. He was too small to be worth anything for a pelt, an' we fetched him home, but he died soon arter, and Meg, she had me bury him. But she couldn't get over what she had seen. She had a ragin' fever for days. I sot up every night holdin' her little quiverin' body close in my arms, an' prayin' God if he'd let my little gal live, I'd never set another of them cruel steel traps to catch any of His critters as long as I'd breath in my body. "Wall, boy, sort of a miracle took place. That little gal of mine had fallen asleep while I sat holdin' her, but jest as I made that promise, silent to God, she lifted up her little hand and put it soft like on my face, an' says, still asleep, seemed like--'I love you, Pa Heger.' An' when she woke up next mornin', the fever was gone, and she was well as ever. "I kept my promise," he went on grimly. "I went all over the mountain an' I took them steel traps, one by one, unsprung 'em and dropped 'em down into that crack some earthquake had split into Bald Peak. It's bottomless, seems like, an' what goes into that crack never does no more harm. Now, when I kill a critter that needs killin', I shoot an' they never know what hits 'em. Meg is a sure-shot, too, though she'd never pack a gun if 'twant that I make her." They had reached the spot where the mountain lion still lay, and the old man stooped to examine it. "I reckon that was a sure shot, all right." Then he shouldered the limp creature. "Thar's fifty dollars bounty, so I might as well have it. I'll hunt for the cubs tomorrer. So long. Hit the trail up our way often." As Dan walked slowly down the mountain road toward his home cabin, he found that he was more interested in this unknown Meg than he had ever before been in any girl.