flowing into the upper Monongahela.

Henry heard the cry but did not understand the words. Yet he did not like
the idea of rolling he knew not to where, and dropping his gun he caught at
the wet rocks and bushes which came to hand. But his downward progress was
not stayed, and in a few seconds he reached the edge of the cliff and
rolled out of sight!

[Illustration: Henry ... rolled over and over down a long hill]

The incident happened so quickly that Barringford was almost stunned. He
started to go down the hill after Henry but for fear of meeting a like
fate, dropped on his breast in the wet and worked his way along from rock
to bush with great caution. Twice he called Henry's name, but no answer
came back.

"If he went over on them rocks it's likely he was smashed up," he groaned.
"Why didn't I have sense enough to hold him back? I knew this dangerous
spot was here."

Step by step he drew closer to the edge of the cliff. The snows of the past
winter had washed away and loosened much of the ground, and once he felt as
if everything was giving way and he was to share the fate of his companion.

At last he was within three feet of the edge of the cliff. He could look
down into the gully beyond but not down on the side where he felt Henry
must be resting.

"Henry!" he called loudly. "Henry!"