. . .rly that was impossible, and he moved along the bank, speedily disappearing, in his search for the missing craft.

"He knows about how long he has slept," mused the smiling Kenton, "and he knows the boat can't have drifted far. When he goes fur 'nough to find it, and don't find it, he'll come back there again; he'll examine the ground, and will diskiver my footprints; he won't know whether the moccasins belong to a white man or one of the varmints, but he will get an idee of why the thing didn't float down instead of up stream. Wal," muttered the ranger, "it'll take sharper eyes than his to trail a canoe through the water, and I don't think he'll git this ere craft ag'in in a hurry."

While those thoughts were in the mind of Kenton, he had re-entered the boat again and taken up the broad ashen paddle.

The reader will understand the difficult task that was before him. From the clearing to Rattlesnake Gulch was all if not more than two miles. It wa. . . Read More