Coming around to the front of the cabin, an idea presented itself to him as he happened to glance westward. At a short distance from the clearing around the cabin, there was a decided and almost sharp break in the ground that reminded one of a sort of jumping-off place. This declined straight downward, forming a gulley running on either side of the cabin as far as the eye could see. Beyond, the mountains climbed again in their eternal race with the clouds, utterly indifferent to the yawning gulley that nature had so inconsistently cleft in their sides. Before the idea was fully formed in his mind, Westy was going foot over foot down the rocky ladder that Mother Earth through æons of time had, in her process of reconstruction, worn away. This she had generously provided, realizing, in her infinite wisdom, the helplessness of the poor human mortal. Reaching the bottom, Westy looked around for a second and then started his climb up the other side. Not losing a moment, he soon gained a high spot that commanded a pretty fair view of the wild country surrounding the isolated cabin. Raising his hands to his mouth and bringing all his lung power into play, he hallooed vehemently in each direction. His voice reverberated, it seemed to him, throughout the whole United States. He thought actually five whole minutes had passed before the echo died away into nothingness. Just as he was about to try once again, he was rewarded with a faint, almost unintelligible answer.... CHAPTER XXVIII—BETWEEN TWO FIRES Everything was silent again, and Westy waited, all the while listening intently. Then he tried it once more. This time the answer came not so clear, but louder. He recognized the voice immediately as Uncle Jeb’s and it did not sound far away either. “Where--are--you?” he called ever so slowly. “Up--at--the--elm,” came the answer, faint again. “M’gosh!” exclaimed Westy. “The elm? The elm?” he repeated, trying to figure out where it was and what had happened. There was only one distinctive elm tree that he had heard Uncle Jeb mention, and that was a little distance above the cabin, overhanging the gulley. That must be the place, he assured himself. That he didn’t meet with disaster was nothing short of good luck, for he didn’t walk or run--he fairly slid down that precipitous slope. The elm wasn’t far and, by keeping in the gulley, Westy soon reached it, not much the worse for wear. There he found Uncle Jeb lying helpless and bleeding quite profusely from a hole in his head. His foot was securely caught in an old rusty bear trap. He was not unconscious, but quite exhausted from the pain in his foot that the trap with its terrible pressure was causing. Also, Westy detected at once, he was extremely weak from loss of blood. He bandaged his head with strips of his own and Uncle Jeb’s handkerchief. Then with the aid of some old sticks lying around in the gulley he finally succeeded in dislodging the old scout’s foot.