it seemed to the boys in the canyon as if the night would never end. at intervals, they dozed, but their slumber, disturbed by distressing thoughts, was not refreshing.

bob somers, in his wakeful moments, felt the strangeness and danger of the situation with full force. how out of the world he felt, hemmed in between those great walls; how was it going to end? he cudgeled his brain in vain, and occasionally rose and walked to the edge of the river, where he tried to pierce the gloom that enshrouded them.

at dawn, a chilling air was sweeping through the canyon. the narrow slit of sky seen between the towering heights was of a palish green. a rosy cloud floated slowly across, and a lone hawk winged its way, high up. they mechanically watched the bird approach, pass overhead, and disappear.

bob somers drew a long breath, as he glanced aloft.

"don't believe i ever saw anything look so high," he said.

"let's go for our breakfast," suggested dave.

"blackberries," said bob, with a sniff of disgust. "i hate blackberries—shape, smell, taste—everything. don't believe i shall ever eat another."

"and i don't believe we shall ever eat anything else," observed sam, gloomily.

"cheer up, fellows! while there's blackberries, there's hope," put in dave, with a faint smile. "after breakfast, we'll hold a council—something must be done."

with difficulty, the three managed to swallow the berries, and then drink a quantity of water, as bob said, to "take the taste out of their mouths."

by this time, the sunlight was slanting across the tops of the mountains.

sam randall seated himself on a rock, the picture of gloom and dejection.

"now what's what?" he asked.

"we can't climb the cliff," answered dave. "do you think——" he hesitated.

"think what, chubby?"

"that it would be too risky to swim for the other shore?"

bob and sam looked at the current and listened to the roar of the cataract. the thought of again trusting themselves to the mercy of such waters made them shiver.

"the current is much swifter over there," said sam, "and if we missed that point of rock——" an expressive gesture finished the sentence.

"guess the searching parties are out for us now," observed bob somers.

"even if they discover where we are, how in the dickens could they help us?" demanded sam.

"you have me there. but i want to take a day off from that river. i'll chance it with the two of you to-morrow."

"good," said the "poet." "we won't give up till we have to. i wouldn't mind it half so much if we had anything to eat besides——"

but bob cut him short. "don't say it, chubby," he remarked dolefully. "i'm trying to forget 'em."

"and i can't," added sam.

the hours dragged wearily by. sometimes they lolled on the ground, watching the high clouds floating slowly across, then wandered around in search of food.

"blackberry valley—nothing else here," sighed bob.

as long as daylight lasted and the glow of the afternoon sun gilded the clouds, they kept up their courage, but the approach of night filled them with dread. it grew dark very soon within the rocky confines, and the barren gray walls wore a cheerless aspect.

the three hungry and worried boys were again obliged to partake of the much despised fruit, after which they returned, as before, to the river.

sleep, in spite of their weariness, seemed out of the question. the stars came out against the darkening sky, and shone brilliantly.

"oh, how i hate the nights in blackberry valley," groaned bob.

"no more than i," said sam. "maybe this is all a dream."

"you mean a nightmare."

moodily, they sat around; conversation lagged; an hour dragged slowly by. then bob somers, who had been gazing dejectedly through half-closed eyes, started up.

"look, fellows—look!" he cried, excitedly.

"where—where? what is it?" asked dave.

"a light—don't you see? straight ahead."

"jiminy crickets! as i live, it's neil prescott's bonfire, on promontory island," gasped sam. "gee, but that's good to see."

"wish we knew what in the world he's up to," said bob.

"thought you might find out when tommy and i went to the mountains," replied sam, gloomily.

with intense interest they watched the speck of light. at intervals, it almost disappeared, then shone forth again, and finally burned steadily like a beacon against the dark sky.

"mighty strange," murmured bob.

"there's some reason for it," put in dave. "as sure as you live, it's a signal."

"but to whom?"

"gee! i don't know. it's a mystery i'd give a lot to solve."

the ramblers kept their eyes eagerly glued to the one link which still bound them to civilization, and breathed a sigh of regret as it began to slowly fade from view. at length but a tiny glimmer remained, and finally night blotted this out.

"it's gone," breathed sam. "old neil prescott is a jolly good fellow, and—great scott—say! am i awake or dreaming? pinch me, somebody—quick!—what's that?"

sam excitedly raised his voice to a shout, and sprang to his feet, while the others, with wild exclamations, followed.

"what in the world is it?" cried bob somers.

a light was springing into view on the opposite shore, apparently on the jutting point.

with throbbing hearts, the three watched it grow. for a moment, not a word was spoken. it seemed so unreal, so extraordinary, that they almost doubted their eyes.

"a fire, down here in the gorge!" gasped bob somers. "it doesn't seem possible."

"a fire!" echoed sam, in amazement.

"by all that's wonderful!" murmured the "poet."

yes—flames were growing larger, curling and twisting; a ruddy light was spreading around—it meant that they were not alone in the terrible gorge.

the restoration from despair to hope sent such a wave of thankfulness into the minds of each that they felt like dancing with joy. then their united voices rose in a volume of sound which echoed and reëchoed throughout the narrow confines with startling clearness.

they paused, and waited anxiously.

for an instant, there was no response. then, "hello, hello! who are you?" came a voice, the tones of which seemed to indicate the greatest amazement.

saved—saved! what a blessed thought!

"hurrah!" yelled bob.

"who are you?" repeated the speaker across the river.

his voice had a strangely familiar sound.

"it can't be possible," said bob, excitedly. "i wonder if—but no——" he stopped, and peered eagerly toward the fire, which, flaring up, revealed two figures.

"i'm bob somers!" he shouted. "dave brandon and sam randall are with me. who are you?"

this announcement was followed by another pause. then came an amazing response.

"hello, bob somers—i'm howard fenton."