"That is my belief. But it is rather curious that we should run across him again, so many miles from the spot where we last met; but, Fred, we must keep our bearings." They were in a wild section of the mountains, which they had not seen before, but by carefully noting the position of the sun in the sky and observing a towering, snow-covered peak that had been fixed upon as a landmark, they agreed as to the right direction. They were confirmed in their belief shortly after by coming to the edge of the canyon which they had leaped on their outward trip; but the width was fully twenty feet, with no diminishing, so far as they could see, to the right or left. "I hardly think it will do to make the venture here," remarked Jack, with a shake of his head. "No; for not only is it too wide, but the other side is several feet higher than this." They cautiously approached the edge and peered down into the frightful depth. There was the same foamy stream, apparently a half-mile below, clashing over the rocky bottom, and sending up the faint roar that impressed them when the canyon was first seen. It was, in short, a reproduction on a reduced scale of the magnificent Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, which is a source of admiring wonder to thousands of tourists. Something away down in the bottom caught the attention of Fred, and, at his suggestion, they laid aside their rifles and venison and crept forward on their faces until their heads projected over the edge of the dizzying depth. "Do you see him?" asked Fred. "Yes; who would have thought of such a thing?" At many points in the yeasty foam black masses of rocks rose so high above the roaring stream that the water whirled and eddyed around them. It was mostly these obstructions that kept the current in a state of turmoil, and made it show distinctly in the twilight gloom of the canyon. On one of the dripping rocks was a man, standing so like a statue that in the indistinct light Fred Greenwood took him for some fantastic formation of stone, worn by the eroding action of the angry waters, but the suggestion of a living person was so striking that the two called their spy-glasses into use. The result was astounding. Instead of being an Indian, as they had believed at first, it was a white man. Furthermore, the instruments proved beyond question that he was their old friend, Hank Hazletine. "What in the name of wonder is he doing down there?" exclaimed the amazed Jack. "Standing on a rock," was the reply. "He finds some amusement in that, or he wouldn't do it." "He must have entered at the mouth of the canyon, which cannot be far off." "That may be so. The sides are so broken and rough that he could use them for stairs in going down or coming up."