"Where's Jack?" Brant demanded. His heart was in the question. The fate of the others was of less concern to him than that of the animal he loved.

Zeke answered, strongly enough, for now energy was flowing back into him.

"The hound went over," he said, regretfully. "I saw him. He slipped an' fell, an' was gone like a flash."

Brant turned away to hide his distress.

But in Zeke recollection welled. He clutched at the marshal, and drew himself to his feet, where, after an instant, he stood firmly. His eyes went searchingly over the barren surface of the Slide. They dilated. Fright lined his face--then, horror. He stared wildly, his gaze roving over all the mountain-top, once and again--and again. When words came, they were broken, surcharged with the horrid fear that was on him.

"Whar--whar is she--Tiny?"

His look went to the four men in turn, piteously pleading. Each of the three met the look and answered it by a shake of the head. But the veteran could not endure the anguish in the lover's eyes. His own dropped. He did not shake his head. Zeke strove for courage.

"Whar is she?" he demanded, at length. His voice was more composed now, but his eyes were flaming.

The veteran answered very softly, but without any attempt at evasion.

"I saw her go, Zeke--over the cliff. Thet little dawg o' your'n had a holt on her skirt. But he hadn't the heft to keep her from goin'. The dawg did the best he knew how. But 'twa'n't no use, an' he went, too. I was too fur off to grab her. I reckon she fainted. She didn't scream, ner move none to save herself."