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