The days passed and he became a wild animal, prowling the hillside like a mountain lion as he stalked the young turkeys or sought the hidden way to his castle. He knew it must be there, some cave or hidden passageway, for the rift from above had turned out a mere crack down which a rat could hardly crawl. He sickened of the taste of eggs and broiled turkeys, and of acorns ground up and boiled; yet the sight of that dwelling, high up above the canyon, held him on from day to day. It was a haven of refuge, if he could only reach it--and he knew there must be a path to it somewhere. From the bench below he often stood and looked up at it, trying to imagine where the path might have passed; and at last he went back and began to explore the chasm, for there could be no other way to the cave. Above, below and far to the south of the dwelling the cliff rose sheer and smooth; but the gateway to the chasm was not so far from the castle that it could not give entrance from the side. Already he had threaded the narrow pathway that led up the bed of the stream; but now he climbed higher and, from the opposite side, looked across for some suggestion of a trail. The canyon wall was steep but not too steep; in places he almost imagined he saw a trail--a row of cat-steps here, a stretch of natural stairs, an ascent from shelf to shelf. But of what value was an ascent if it took him to no passageway--what he sought was a way to the cave. He lay idly in the shade, gazing across at the canyon wall, and as the silence came back he saw a shadow move down the stream-bed, pause stealthily and move again. Then, etched against the granite, a huge mountain-lion stood out, tawny red and almost invisible until it moved. He looked on, still idly, for not since he had come there had he ventured to fire a shot; and the lion, which had been hiding from him, started stealthily up the path that he had been tracing from shelf to shelf. He padded softly up the cat-steps, took the stairs at a bound--and disappeared in a high, narrow crack. A half hour later Hall followed in his footsteps and at the mouth of his cave he received the last assurance that the pathway led to the castle. A cool wind breathed out of it, tainted with the strong musk of lions; and where could it come from but there? He turned back eagerly to gather pitch-pine from a piñon stump; then entered, holding the torch like a club. There was a rustle before him, an uneasy growl, the flash of startled eyes; but still they fled on and he followed through the darkness until he saw a cleft of light overhead. It merged into an orifice that let in a soft glow and the vision of a skulking form; and then the invisible path, which had held his feet through the darkness, took him out into blinding day. He was standing in the court of his castle in the air and the lion was crouching by the door. CHAPTER XVI THERE'S ALWAYS A WAY