He lit the fire. It had to be a small one, to prevent the tree itself from taking fire, when the whole valley would go up in cinders--with him in it! At the end of an hour the trunk was merely blackened, and a thin skin of charred bark covered its face toward the fire. Sid added logs and fought off discouragement, but it _would_ not down! The whole thing seemed _so_ hopeless--a labor of weeks, years, centuries! It would take the patience of an Indian to get that tree down. He gulped a mouthful of pinole and ranged up and down the valley--seeking fresh game with his revolver, for a meat hunger raged within him. He had plenty of time--all the time in the world! A log, now and then, was all the fire needed; any more would be dangerous. He could hunt, loaf, do anything he pleased--but get out. The little valley, however, was absolutely gameless. Nothing came down here; nothing _could_ get down here, except an occasional bird and the ubiquitous pack rat, one of which had come snuffing into his lean-to the night before. Sid was more than weary of the whole thing--but he was learning, from life itself, the meanings of the words patience and fortitude. To take things as they came; never to give up, never to be discouraged; always look for the bright outcome somehow, somewhere--it took a strong soul to do that! His own soul was growing, under the exercise of the Indian’s virtues--courage, honor, fortitude, faith. He knew it; he felt it within him, as his soul rose struggling out of its sea of troubles. And then, as if Mother Nature had teased him long enough, down to Sid’s ears floated the sweetest music he had ever heard--the baying of a hound! Sid pranced with joy, hand cupped to ear, listening, locating, his heart bubbling within him. _Ow-ow-ow!_ it sang, the distant chiming bellow of a hound on a hot scent. Surely that was Ruler’s voice! Then a squeaking, ripping bray, seemingly farther off, whispered through the forest--Pepper, by all the red gods!--Sid was sure of them, now! Sid whipped out his revolver and was about to fire their private signal, when a warning thought bade him hesitate. Those dogs were far ahead of the horses. They were undoubtedly on the trail of the Black Panther, who would head here for his lair where he could be rid of them. If he fired, the panther would turn off and seek some other of his haunts, taking the dogs off with him and Sid would never be found. Far wiser to hold his fire and let him come! Besides, there would be doings! Sid leaped up on a bowlder where he could command the whole canyon and listened with all his ears.