"There's Dick now!" cried Nort, recognizing his brother's voice. "Where in the world is he?" asked Bud, looking about. In answer Snake pointed down the sloping bank of shale and sand, and there, at the bottom, was Dick, half buried in the soft material, and his horse, with twisted saddle, was standing near by, looking rather the worse for wear. And if the countenance of the animal had been visible it would doubtless have shown pained surprise. "What's' the matter? What you doing down there?" called Nort to his brother, as Dick proceeded to extricate himself from the sand and shale that covered him almost to his neck. "You don't s'pose I'm down here for fun, do you?" floated up the somewhat sarcastic answer. "I came around that turn too fast and the horse just sat down at the edge and slid here. It's lucky I'm not killed!" "It sure is!" agreed Slim. "You want to take a strange trail easy, boy. Are you hurt--or your horse?" Dick was about two hundred feet below them at the foot of the slope. He got up and limped over to his animal. "Guess he's all right," was the reply. "How about you?" asked Bud, for Dick had followed the real westerner's habit of looking first to his steed. "Oh, I'm scratched up a bit, and lame," was the rueful reply, "but I guess nothing is busted unless it's one of my girths." The others watched him, while he straightened his saddle, which had slipped around under the horse. Then Dick called up: "It's all right. I can ride him, I reckon," which he proved by vaulting into the saddle. "How am I going to get back up there, though?" he asked. "It's as slippery as an iceberg." "You can't get up," Snake called down. "Don't try it. The trail up here goes along the same direction as the one down there. Keep on it until we join you." Which Dick did, his pony, fortunately, proving to have suffered no injuries in the unexpected slide down the hill. And thus, by a narrow margin, was an accident diverted. For had the slope down which Dick plunged, because of taking the turn too suddenly, been of rock, both he and the horse might have been badly hurt, if not killed. "Keep a lookout for that Greaser," called Dick up to his chums above him. "I don't believe you saw any," retorted Slim. "There aren't any signs of him here." Nor were there, though the cowboys made careful scrutiny. And afterward Dick admitted that he might have mistaken the fluttering of a bush for the hat of someone he thought a member of Del Pinzo's gang. In a short time the upper path merged into the trail below, and Dick rejoined his friends, exhibiting some scratches sustained in his perilous slide.