They could not have told how long they stood there silent.  Presently Shorty Wier pushed himself to the head of the group and, without a moment’s warning, flashed his electric spotlight and began advancing slowly toward the animal.  Allen caught him by the sleeve and followed, gun in hand.  The eyes seemed to dilate, and there was a low growl that seemed to be a warning.  In an instant it flashed into Allen’s mind, “A mad dog!” A bobcat could not growl, and a lion did not sound like a dog.  Shorty turned and looked Allen in the eye, “Don’t be a fool.  Put up your gun and get out your pocket ax,” he said in a low, steady voice.  Then he began talking in a coaxing tone.

“There, dog, there, poor fellow, no one will hurt you, nice pup; what’s the matter, dog.”  His light he cast straight at the eyes.  “Don’t strike till I say,” he whispered to Mr. Allen.

In a moment they were close enough to see that it was a dog, a Collie pup, wild-eyed and half-starved.  Shorty stepped nearer and put his hand out to pat the dog’s head; but the animal only trembled and shrank back, then whined a pitiful whine.  They could see now that the dog was fast in a steel trap, held securely by his hind leg.  Shorty reached down and released the bruised and swollen leg from the trap, and as the dog felt himself free he gave a cry of relief.  If ever a dog expressed his gratitude in actions it was that pup.  When they reached the mouth of the cave the dog collar was carefully examined, bringing to light the fact that the dog belonged to a Beverly H. Pembroke.  Shorty would have the reward.  Their lunch boxes and coffee-pot were gathered up, and the climb to the cliff began.  The great moon was just lifting her yellow head above a rift of clouds in the eastern sky.  Soon the flat top of the crag was reached, and in a moment a roaring fire was kindled.  They had filled the coffee-pot with water before leaving the stream in the canyon, and it was now swung on a cross-pole over the fire.  Each fellow put his share of the steak to fry by fastening it to the forked end of a stick and holding it over the coals.  The red-cedar sticks made an ideal cooking fire, and the odor from the burning wood was enough to make any one hungry.  The dog lay upon Shorty’s sweater, against the side of the cliff, and watched the broiling meat with eager eyes.  It is hardly necessary to say that he received a generous share of the meal.

Mr. Allen stood with his back to the fire, looking off over the tops of the mountains and down into the moonlit spots of the canyon below, absorbing as much as he could of its beauty and inspiration.  Far away to the west was the same old peak that he had seen from every conceivable angle and he had learned to love so well.  It was a scene like this that he loved better than anything else in the world, and it was at such times that he almost wished that he was one of God’s wild things living a care-free life, looking to Mother Earth and his own wits to care for all his needs.