The road to Orella was in the opposite direction to that taken by Dave and Roger on the day they had encountered the heavy storm. As Mr. Obray had said, the trail was well marked, so that the young civil engineer had little trouble in following it.

“But you are going to have some rough riding, Dave,” remarked Roger, when he came forward to see his chum depart. “They tell me there is one spot on the trail where riding is as dangerous as it is on any trail in Montana.”

“Well, Sport is a good horse, and I intend to be careful,” answered our hero; and then, with a wave of his hand, he galloped away and was soon out of sight of the construction camp.

Our hero felt in the best of humor, for the day promised to be a fine one and a ride on horseback through the mountains was just to his liking. He could not help but whistle gayly to himself as he sped forward; and thus the first three miles of his journey were covered in a comparatively short space of time.

69Beyond these three miles the trail roughened for another mile or two, and here the young civil engineer had to pick his way among the rocks and loose stones with care. In some places where the trail was of dirt, the brushwood grew thickly, so that it often brushed his legs and the sides of his steed as they passed. This, of course, was merely the foot trail to Orella, a sort of short cut. The main trail for teams wound along farther down in the valley and was fully fifteen miles longer.

As Dave pursued his journey, many thoughts came to his mind, both about his work and concerning those left at home in Crumville. The beautiful face of Jessie, with her bewitching eyes, was continually before him; and once or twice he took from his pocket the last letter he had received from her, to read over some of the lines she had penned.

“She wants me to make good as a civil engineer, and I’m going to do it,” he murmured to himself.

Shortly after leaving the construction camp he had passed several miners who were prospecting in that vicinity, but now he seemed to be alone on the trail, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the occasional cry of a wild bird and the hoofbeats of his horse as the sturdy animal moved ahead.

Having mounted to the top of an unusually hard 70rise, Dave brought Sport to a halt to rest, and also to take a look at his surroundings. On one side of him were the jagged rocks leading still further upward, while on the other was the broad valley, clothed in green and with a shimmering river flowing through its center. Far away he could see some animals grazing, and took them to be mountain goats, although at such a distance it was hard to make sure.

“A fellow certainly could have some great times out here hunting in the proper season,” he told himself. “I’d like to go out myself for a few days, especially if I could get some old hunter for a guide.”

Having rested for about five minutes, Dave moved forward again, and soon found himself on the dangerous part of the trail mentioned by Roger. The youth had heard this spoken of before, and he reined in his steed and moved forward with caution.

“You be careful, old boy,” he said, patting his horse on the neck. “Neither of us wants to take a tumble down yonder rocks. If we did, it might be good-bye to both of us.”

Evidently Sport understood the situation quite as well as did the young civil engineer, for he kept as close to the inner side of the path as possible, and picked every step carefully, and thus they moved onward until the very worst of the trail had 71been left behind. There was, however, still some bad places, the trail widening out in some spots only to narrow worse than ever in others.

“Hi there! Don’t you ride me down!” cried an unexpected voice, as Dave came around one of the narrow bends of the trail. And the next instant the youth found himself face to face with Nick Jasniff.

The fellow who had been in prison was on foot, and carried a bundle strapped over one shoulder. He was so close that he had to leap to one side for fear of being trampled under foot, and this filled him with anger even before he recognized who was on horseback.

“Nick Jasniff!” exclaimed Dave, and for the instant knew not what more to say.

“So it’s you, Porter, is it?” snarled the former bully of Oak Hall. “What are you doing on this trail?”

“That is none of your business, Jasniff,” answered Dave coldly.

“See here! You needn’t put on any lordly airs with me!” growled the fellow who in the past had caused our hero so much trouble. “Thought you were playing a fine game on me, didn’t you—having that construction camp manager make a fool of me?” And now Jasniff came closer and caught Dave’s horse by the bridle.

“You keep your hands off my horse, Jasniff,” 72ordered Dave. “You let go of him this instant!”

“I’ll let go when I please.”

“No, you won’t! You’ll let go now!” And so speaking, Dave leaned over in the saddle to push the fellow away.

It was not a very wise thing to do, and Dave should have known better. The instant he made the movement, Jasniff, who was tall and powerful, caught him by the arm, and the next instant had hauled him from the saddle. The scuffle which resulted from this alarmed the horse, and the steed trotted away some distance up the trail.

“I guess I’ve got you now where I want you, Porter!” cried Jasniff, the squinting eye squinting worse than ever as he scowled at our hero. “I’ve got a big account to settle............