Lower Depths 315 XXVIII. Light in the Darkness 327 XXIX. The Climber 339 XXX. Lurking Beasts 349 XXXI. Confessions 357 XXXII. Over the Brink 366 XXXIII. Friends in Need 374 XXXIV. Reclamation 388 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE It was a wild race _Frontispiece_ It sounded its shrill, menacing rattle 106 "You have something to tell me--your voice--your eyes--" 286 Another desperate clutch at the rope--still another 328 OUT OF THE DEPTHS CHAPTER I DEEP CANYON The hunter was riding leisurely up the steep mountain side above Dry Mesa. On such an ascent most city men would have preferred to climb afoot. But there was a month's layer of tan on the hunter's handsome, supercilious face. He balanced himself lightly on his flat English saddle, and permitted the wiry little cow pony to pick the best path over the ledges and up the stiff slopes between the scattered pines. In keeping with his saddle, the hunter wore English riding breeches and leggins. Otherwise he was dressed as a Texas cowboy of the past generation. His sombrero was almost Mexican in its size and ornateness. But his rifle was of the latest American pattern, and in place of the conventional Colt's he carried an automatic pistol. As his horse patiently clambered with him up towards the top of the escarpment the man gazed indolently about between half-closed eyelids and inhaled the smoke from an unbroken "chain" of gilt-tipped cigarettes. The pony scrambled up the last ledges and came to a halt on the rim of High Mesa. It had been a long, hard climb. Tough as he was and mountain bred, the beast's rough coat was lathered with sweat and his flanks were heaving. The hunter's gaze roamed carelessly over the hilly pine-clad plateau of the upper mesa, while he took a nip of brandy from a silver-cased flask and washed it down with a drink of the tepid water in his canteen.