There, perched on the ledge of the hollow, was an eagle, wings spread, as if for attack! He frantically tried to perceive if Artie was moving within, but the eagle’s spread wings screened Artie--if he was still there, alive---- “It can’t be possible,” he cried aloud, “that God would be so unmerciful!” Unashamed he dashed away the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. His cry echoed all around in the Pass. It must have attracted the bird’s attention, for Westy could see that it had turned on the ledge of the hollow and was looking down to the spot where he was standing. Then to his great joy, he heard a cry, a human voice, almost plaintive in tone. The eagle, evidently nonplussed, flew back to the precipice with a screech that was awful to hear. Westy realized with a deep sense of relief that not only had he been given an inspiration, but he had also succeeded in combating the bird’s purpose, whatever it was, for the time being, at least. He now emitted a cry more cogently this time and valiantly tried to imitate the eagle’s screech. It answered! Again and again Westy would cry and each time he was rewarded with an answer. But he knew he could not waste valuable time by keeping it up. It would be dark before a half hour elapsed. Then his face brightened as his eye lighted upon the still figure lying under his scarf. “Will it do any good?” he questioned quite loud. “I wonder! Yet, it might work at that!” Taking the bird in his arms and screaming intermittently, as before, Westy started up the trail at breakneck speed, keeping his eye all the while on the hollow opposite and the precipice above it. The eagle was now pacing to and fro on the ledge, giving Westy cry for cry. It was a decidedly difficult thing for Westy to do, running up-hill at the pace he was and using his lung power to the limit besides. By the time he reached the cliff he was exhausted. His throat was sore and he thought that perhaps when he finally got through shouting, he would certainly never be able to yell again. That, in itself, would be a tragic calamity to a scout such as Westy Martin. CHAPTER XXXI—WESTY MAKES A SACRIFICE Quickly and quietly, with a discerning eye around him, Westy picked a spot near the edge of the precipice in which to carry out his plan. At the foot of a giant tree in the moss-covered earth, with trembling but dexterous fingers, he dug into the ground, tearing away small rocks and dirt with a will that was born of strong determination. The eagle, meanwhile, had been joined by its mate and together they screamed for vengeance, while the shadows gathered around them.