A dozen times he had examined the smooth rocks over which he had slid into the hollow. Nowhere had he found a foothold with which to brace himself over the cliff. But, as hope springs eternal and the screeching had ceased now for quite a while, Artie arose to a stooping position. With eager eyes he sought once more some hidden crevice that perhaps he had overlooked. He felt cautiously of the smooth surface and with a gesture of despair resigned himself to the knowledge that without help it could not be done. A deep silence now reigned and it gave Artie hope, thinking that perhaps the birds had given up the watch and gone back to their aerie. He stretched his aching body and getting to his feet boldly, carefully raised on his tiptoes, throwing his arms upward and running his fingers along the wall of rock. It was maddening, he thought, that his fingers couldn’t grasp something! Oh, if only he were a few inches taller! In this cogitative state of mind he heard a distinct rustle--silk-like; maybe the wind. Then again--nearer. He listened intently as it came closer, and suddenly he felt something touch his fingers ever so lightly. His warm blood seemed suddenly turned into an ice-like substance. For, peering above him, he found that he was looking directly into the face of an eagle! CHAPTER XXX—CRIES When Westy left Uncle Jeb and started toward the cabin, he was frantically trying to dope out a plan with which to rescue Artie. A hundred and one ideas had already been half-formulated in his anxious mind, but none seemed logical when he tried to think of them being put into action. He hadn’t asked Uncle Jeb’s advice, not only because he thought himself quite capable, but also because he didn’t wish to overtax Uncle Jeb’s needed strength by asking questions. He knew one thing, and that was, that the eagles wouldn’t give up their search until dark anyway. And it was better that he should get Artie out before pitch dark and get back to the cabin. Hurrying along with Uncle Jeb’s rifle over one shoulder and the rope and lantern supported by his other arm, Westy could not help feeling a certain thrill. He felt like a real scout now, and an honest-to-goodness hunter. No one could possibly know what a glorious feeling it really was. There wasn’t the least bit of vanity or egotism about him, but nevertheless, just this once, he cherished a secret desire that his father, mother and sister might see him thus. His thoughts he did not let interfere with his progress, for his flying feet had already outdistanced them, as it was still quite light when he began the last descent to the lake. The nearer he came the more fearful he was that perhaps it would be too late. A half-finished prayer was still on his lips, as he swung out of the trail by the open lake. Walking over to the spot where he had left the dead bird, he raised his eyes apprehensively toward the hollow. He gasped!