With teeth tight shut he essayed the incline. And as he climbed
he bent his eyes downward. This, however, after a little grew

impossible; he had to look to obey his eager, curious mind. He
raised his glance and saw light between row on row of shafts and

pinnacles and crags that stood out from the main wall. Some
leaned against the cliff, others against each other; many stood

sheer and alone; all were crumbling, cracked, rotten. It was a
place of yellow, ragged ruin. The passage narrowed as he went up;

it became a slant, hard for him to stick on; it was smooth as
marble. Finally he surmounted it, surprised to find the walls

still several hundred feet high, and a narrow gorge leading down
on the other side. This was a divide between two inclines, about

twenty yards wide. At one side stood an enormous rock. Venters
gave it a second glance, because it rested on a pedestal. It

attracted closer attention. It was like a colossal pear of stone
standing on its stem. Around the bottom were thousands of little

nicks just distinguishable to the eye. They were marks of stone
hatchets. The cliff-dwellers had chipped and chipped away at this

boulder fill it rested its tremendous bulk upon a mere pin-point
of its surface. Venters pondered. Why had the little stone-men

hacked away at that big boulder? It bore no semblance to a statue
or an idol or a godhead or a sphinx. Instinctively he put his

hands on it and pushed; then his shoulder and heaved. The stone
seemed to groan, to stir, to grate, and then to move. It tipped a

little downward and hung balancing for a long instant, slowly
returned, rocked slightly, groaned, and settled back to its

former position. Venters divined its significance. It had been
meant for defense. The cliff-dwellers, driven by dreaded enemies

to this last stand, had cunningly cut the rock until it balanced
perfectly, ready to be dislodged by strong hands. Just below it

leaned a tottering crag that would have toppled, starting an
avalanche on an acclivity where no sliding mass could stop. Crags

and pinnacles, splintered cliffs, and leaning shafts and
monuments, would have thundered down to block forever the outlet

to Deception Pass.
"That was a narrow shave for me," said Venters, soberly. "A

balancing rock! The cliff-dwellers never had to roll it. They
died, vanished, and here the rock stands, probably little

changed....But it might serve another lonelydweller of the
cliffs. I'll hide up here somewhere, if I can only find water."

He descended the gorge on the other side. The slope was gradual,
the space narrow, the course straight for many rods. A gloom hung

between the up-sweeping walls. In a turn the passage narrowed to
scarce a dozen feet, and here was darkness of night. But light

shone ahead; another abrupt turn brought day again, and then wide
open space.

Above Venters loomed a wonderful arch of stone bridging the
canyon rims, and through the enormous round portal gleamed and

glistened a beautiful valley shining under sunset gold reflected
by surrounding cliffs. He gave a start of surprise. The valley

was a cove a mile long, half that wide, and its enclosing walls
were smooth and stained, and curved inward, forming great caves.

He decided that its floor was far higher than the level of
Deception Pass and the intersecting canyons. No purple sage

colored this valley floor. Instead there were the white of
aspens, streaks of branch and slender trunk glistening from the

green of leaves, and the darker green of oaks, and through the
middle of this forest, from wall to wall, ran a winding line of

brilliant green which marked the course of cottonwoods and
willows.

"There's water here--and this is the place for me," said Venters.
"Only birds can peep over those walls, I've gone Oldring one

better."
Venters waited no longer, and turned swiftly to retrace his

steps. He named the canyon Surprise Valley and the huge boulder
that guarded the outlet Balancing Rock. Going down he did not

find himself attended by such fears as had beset him in the
climb; still, he was not easy in mind and could not occupy

himself with plans of moving the girl and his outfit until he had
descended to the notch. There he rested a moment and looked about

him. The pass was darkening with the approach of night. At the
corner of the wall, where the stone steps turned, he saw a spur

of rock that would serve to hold the noose of a lasso. He needed
no more aid to scale that place. As he intended to make the move

under cover of darkness, he wanted most to be able to tell where
to climb up. So, taking several small stones with him, he stepped

and slid down to the edge of the slope where he had left his
rifle and boots. He placed the stones some yards apart. He left

the rabbit lying upon the bench where the steps began. Then he
addressed a keen-sighted, remembering gaze to the rim-wall above.

It was serrated, and between two spears of rock, directly in line
with his position, showed a zigzag crack that at night would let

through the gleam of sky. This settled, he put on his belt and
boots and prepared to descend. Some consideration was necessary

to decide whether or not to leave his rifle there. On the return,
carrying the girl and a pack, it would be added encumbrance; and

after debating the matter he left the rifle leaning against the
bench. As he went straight down the slope he halted every few

rods to look up at his mark on the rim. It changed, but he fixed
each change in his memory. When he reached the first cedar-tree,

he tied his scarf upon a dead branch, and then hurried toward
camp, having no more concern about finding his trail upon the

return trip.
Darkness soon emboldened and lent him greater speed. It occurred

to him, as he glided into the grassy glade near camp and head the
whinny of a horse, that he had forgotten Wrangle. The big sorrel

could not be gotten into Surprise Valley. He would have to be
left here.

Venters determined at once to lead the other horses out through
the thicket and turn them loose. The farther they wandered from

this canyon the better it would suit him. He easily descried
Wrangle through the gloom, but the others were not in

sight.
Venters whistled low for the dogs, and when they came trotting to

him he sent them out to search for the horses, and followed. It
soon developed that they were not in the glade nor the thicket.

Venters grew cold and rigid at the thought of rustlers having
entered his retreat. But the thought passed, for the demeanor of

Ring and Whitie reassured him. The horses had wandered away.
Under the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness,

yet not so thick that Venter's night-practiced eyes could not
catch the white oval of a still face. He bent over it with a

slight suspension of breath that was both caution lest he
frighten her and chill uncertainty of feeling lest he find her

dead. But she slept, and he arose to renewed activity.
He packed his saddle-bags. The dogs were hungry, they whined

about him and nosed his busy hands; but he took no time to feed
them nor to satisfy his own hunger. He slung the saddlebags over

his shoulders and made them secure with his lasso. Then he
wrapped the blankets closer about the girl and lifted her in his

arms. Wrangle whinnied and thumped the ground as Venters passed
him with the dogs. The sorrel knew he was being left behind, and

was not sure whether he liked it or not. Venters went on and
entered the thicket. Here he had to feel his way in pitch

blackness and to wedge his progress between the close saplings.
Time meant little to him now that he had started, and he edged

along with slow side movement till he got clear of the thicket.