The narrowing walls of the canyon threw the echoes
back and forth.
Presently I espied moving dots, one blue, one brown, on the opposite
slope. They were Haught and his son Edd slowly and laboriously climbing
up the steep bluff. How like snails they climbed! Theirs was indeed a
task. A yell pealed out now and then, and though it seemed to come from
an entirely different direction it surely must have come from the
Haughts. Presently some one high on the rim answered with like yells.
The chase was growing hotter.
"They've got a bear up somewhere," cried Copple, excitedly. And I
agreed with him.
Then we were startled by the sharp crack of a rifle from the rim.
"The ball's open! Get your pardners, boys," exclaimed Copple, with
animation.
"Ben, wasn't that a.30 Gov't?" I asked.
"Sure was," he replied. "Must have been R.C. openin' up. Now look
sharp!"
I gazed everywhere, growing more excited and thrilled. Another shot from
above, farther off and from a different rifle, augmented our stirring
expectation.
Copple left our stand and ran up over the ridge, and then down under and
along the base of a rock wall. I had all I could do to keep up with him.
We got perhaps a hundred yards when we heard the spang of Haught's.30
Gov't. Following this his big, hoarse voice bawled out: "He's goin' to
the left--to the left!" That sent us right about face, to climbing,
scrambling, running and plunging back to our first stand at the saddle,
where we arrived breathless and eager.
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