As he set his mind to work marshaling the events of the last two days, a sudden startling thought smote him--suppose his party had started a day _early_! It was quite possible; it was probable, even! Big John had left him about noon, two days before. He had then gone back to the ranch with the buck and told them how he, Sid, had gone off on a lone hike to the Canyon Cheyo. Suppose then, his father, knowing the immense size of the canyon, had become worried over losing him and had started after him the very next day? Even if they went by the wooded plateau route they would have arrived at the head of the canyon by _yesterday afternoon_ at latest! That, then, was the very time he should have been signaling with all his might, raising a smoke, firing his pistol from the ledge, doing everything to attract them, instead of fooling around trying to get out of the Lost Canyon by himself. Well,--it was too late, now! Perhaps they were still in Cheyo--of course they were,--and looking for him. The dogs would trace his pony, eventually; they would probably come up his side canyon early next morning. If so, it behooved him to get up on the ledge and be on watch with keenest of eyes and ears. And, if they _didn’t_ come? Well, he had a half-formed plan for that, too. A big spruce grew up near the head of the canyon, in such a position that by building a fire around its roots he could throw it to fall where he could reach the lowest point of that fissure up the cougar’s ledge. Taking a quantity of stout pegs up with him, he could drive them in and so build himself a way out. An hour of such plannings and reflections had put Sid in a sleepy mood again, and, as the moon was now setting in the west, he used up the last of his light in gathering firewood and then turned in, to fall into a sound sleep. By dawn he was up and hungry. The last of his bacon and coffee seemed a mighty sparse meal. By now he loathed the taste of pinole. It would be another day before he could become accustomed to it as a steady diet. It was full daylight before he had cleaned up everything and was ready for the climb up the flanks of Lost Canyon to the high fissure in its closing wall. Coming down now seemed to Sid even worse than going up, for to his eyes he appeared literally suspended, by hand and elbow grip alone, over a yawning blue depth, misty with the vapors rising from the main chasm below.