The little horse made forward at a brisk walk then, travelling straight south along the road that followed the track. Presently, however, he turned sharply to the right and entered the brush. “Do you think he’s going right?” called out Eastman anxiously. “Wal,” answered the doctor, “he acts like he means business. You see, for two days I ain’t give him a bite to eat except when he was out yonder in that cañon.” Bobby was taking a westward course that was almost at right angles to the road he had just come down. He wound through scrubby liveoaks and bristling chaparral, evidently along no path. Behind him the other horse had to be urged constantly, for the undergrowth was heavy and hung across the way. But soon the brush parted to leave a straight, open track, so narrow, however, that it seemed only a path. The doctor got down and lit a match. They were on a trail that showed recent use. Upon it, stamped plainly in the dust, were the round, eastward-pointing hoofprints of a mule. “Are we right?” asked Eastman. “So far.” Now both horses were pushed to a canter--until the path grew rough and steep. The doctor recognised this descent and listened for the sound of the rushing stream he had crossed both times under the guidance of the man with the scar. When the stream was washing the hoofs of their horses the doctor reached out to lay a hand on Eastman’s shoulder. “My friend, we’re half-way!” Eastman would have pressed ahead then, but the doctor would not permit it. “Leave it to Bobby,” was his counsel. “Mr. Nick didn’t blindfold Bobby.” The path ascended the long slope of a hogback. Pine needles covered the slope, and though the doctor dismounted a half-dozen times no path could be seen. But each time, as he stepped into the saddle again, the little horse went forward eagerly. The hogback ended abruptly. Bobby turned to the left. The trip had seemed so short that now, as the doctor looked into the darkness below him, he could scarcely credit his senses. “Eastman,” he said. “See below there!” It was a spot of light. From then on it was a wild ride. The horses did not leave the steep path; but they stumbled, slid or scrambled for a footing down the whole of the black descent. The doctor kept his eyes on the light. Eastman, divided between joy and fear, shouted out frenziedly toward the nearing shanty. At the edge of the clearing both men flung themselves out of their saddles, then ran. Eastman led. And as he entered the low door he still hoarsely called: “Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!” A faint cry answered. It came from beyond the bed, on which lay a quiet form. The doctor reached to shove at the boards forming the blind door. They gave, disclosing a small inner room.