CAPTAIN TOM KEDRICK sat very still, listening.  He heard some gravel stir.  A stone rattled down the canyon.  Every move would count now, and he must take no unnecessary chance.  He was cornered, and while he did not want to kill any of these men, he had no intention of being killed.

Carefully, he dismounted.  As his boot touched the sand he tested it to make sure no sound would result when his weight settled.  Haste now was his greatest danger.  There might be nothing he could do, but he was a man of many experiences, and in the past there had always been a way out.  Usually there was, if a man took his time and kept his head.

Standing still beside the appaloosa, he studied the situation.  His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness under the bulk of Yellow Butte.  He stared around, seeing the faint gray of sand underfoot, the black bulk of boulders and the more ragged stretch of underbrush.  Leading his horse, he followed a narrow strip of gray that showed an opening between boulders.

Scarcely wide enough to admit his horse, the opening led back for some twenty feet, then widened.  These were low boulders, rising scarcely above his waist, with the brush somewhat higher.  The horse seemed to sense the danger, for it, too, walked quietly and almost without sound.

Literally, he was feeling his way in the dark.  But he knew that trail of sand must come from somewhere, for water had run here, and that water might spill off the cliff edge, or might come through some opening.  Walking steadily, he found himself going deeper into a tangle of boulders, weaving his way along that thin gray trail into he knew not what.

Twice he paused and with his hat, worked back along the path brushing out the tracks.  He could not see how good a job he was doing, but the opening was narrow enough to give him a good chance of success.  When he had pushed back into the tangle for all of ten minutes, he was brought up sharply by the cliff itself.  He had found his way up the slope, through the talus, brush and scattered boulders, to the very face of the rock.

Above him, and apparently out of reach, was a notch in the cliff, and this was probably the source of the sandy trail he had followed.  Worried now, he ground-hitched the palouse and moved along the cliff, feeling his way along the face, searching each crack.

To his left, he found nothing.  Several times he paused to listen, but no sound came from down the canyon.  If this was a box canyon, with no exit, the men would probably know it and make no attempt to close in until daylight.  In the darkness a man could put up quite a fight in here.  Yet, because of their eagerness to avenge the dead man, they might push on.

Speaking softly to the horse, he worked his way along the face to the right, but here the pile of talus fell off sharply and he dipped into a hollow.  It was cool and the air felt damp.  There might even be a spring there, but he heard no water running.

Despite the coolness he was sweating and he paused, mopping his face and listening.  As he stood there he felt a faint breath of wind against his cheek!