After a half-mile’s wild run Spot turned into a narrow-mouthed canyon, leading in a long course clear to the high peaks. A creek had flowed through it in some past age and carved its banks, but through some geological catastrophe its waters were diverted and only a dry bed of stones remained. Half-hidden by heavy brush thickets, neither Fargo nor Alice had ever dreamed of its existence: it was just one of many unknown gorges in the unlimited mountain spaces of the American West. Spot—perhaps wholly unaware of the fire—had sped down it before the pursuit of Broken Fang, and now that his enemy was slain he was simply taking the same course back to his own people in the mountains. The flame had not yet crept down its rocky, barren walls. It was such a place as the rattlesnakes love, but not a feeding ground for sheep; and the little herbage that grew between its bowlders had not offered a swift passage for the fire. The flames raged above them on each side, but the fiery walls had not yet converged and made the impassable barrier on which Fargo had counted. And Spot’s whole flock sped behind him into its sheltering depths. They were none too soon. Within a few minutes the advancing tide of flame would have covered its mouth if indeed it had not crept down over the steep walls into the canyon floor itself. But the straight road to safety was open at last. Far beyond, leading him like a star, Spot could see the glorious white peaks of his home. The domestic sheep could not follow him all the distance, yet the way was clear and safe for them completely beyond the outer reaches of the fire. And all that Hugh and Alice had to do—with Shep running and barking with joy beside them—was to follow the white flocks. The lesser folk had shown the way,—just as many times before in the long roll of the ages. No man could have followed Spot out from the terror of the fire that night and still thought—in monstrous arrogance—that the wild things of the world were created only for his own blood-lust and his own pleasure. The comradeship of men and beasts is of ancient origin, and its utility is not yet gone. The bighorn ram—exiled by birth among strangers and lost to his brethren once more because of the cougar’s hunting—was headed back to his own snow-capped peaks—and Hugh and Alice and the surging flocks had simply followed his lead. And the way he had shown was that of life and safety when all other paths were closed.