On going forward we found that Bill had killed a deer and was roping it on his pack-horse. As we proceeded up the canyon it grew narrower, and soon we entered a veritable gorge. It was short, but the floor was exceedingly rough, and made hard going for the horses. Suddenly I was amazed to see the gorge open out into a kind of amphitheatre several hundred feet across. The walls were steep, and one side shelved out, making a long, shallow cave, In the center of this amphitheatre was a deep hole from which the mountain stream boiled and bubbled. “Hyar we are,” said Bill, and swung out of his saddle. The other men followed suit, and helped Dick and me down. Stockton untied our hands, saying he reckoned we would be more comfortable that way. Indeed we were. My wrists were swollen and blistered. Stockton detailed the Mexican to keep guard over us. “Ken, I've heard of this place,” said Dick. “How's that for a spring? Twenty yards wide, and no telling how deep! This is snow-water straight from the peaks. We're not a thousand feet below the snow-line.” “I can tell that. Look at those Jwari pines,” I replied, pointing up over the wall. A rugged slope rose above our camp-site, and it was covered with a tangled mass of stunted pines. Many of them were twisted and misshapen; some were half dead and bleached white at the tops. “It's my first sight of such trees,” I went on, “but I've studied about them. Up here it's not lack of moisture that stunts and retards their growth. It's fighting the elements--cold, storm-winds, snowslides. I suppose not one in a thousand seedlings takes root and survives. But the forest fights hard to live.” “Well, Ken, we may as well sit back now and talk forestry till Buell skins all he wants of Penetier,” said Dick. “It's really a fine camping-spot. Plenty of deer up here and bear, too.” “Dick, couldn't we escape?” I whispered. “We're not likely to have a chance. But I say, Ken, how did you happen to turn up? I thought you were going to hop on the first train for home.” “Dick, you had another think coming. I couldn't go home. I'll have a great time yet--I'm having it now.” “Yes, that lump on your head looks like it,” replied Dick, with a laugh. “If Bud hadn't put you out we'd have come closer to licking this bunch. Ken, keep your eye on Greaser. He's treacherous. His arm's lame yet.” “We've had two run-ins already,” I said. “The third time is the worst, they say. I hope it won't come.... But, Dick, I'm as big--I'm bigger than he is.” “Hear the kid talk! I certainly ought to have put you on that train--” “What train?” asked Stockton, sharply, from our rear. He took us in with suspicious eyes. “I was telling Ken I ought to have put him on a train for home,” answered Dick.