By taking to the ravine again, he entered upon the Apache highway, where he was likely, at any moment, and especially at the sharp turns, to come in collision with the red men, but the advantage was too great to overlook, and he hoped by the exercise of unusual care to keep out of all such peril.
He was on the margin of the plateau, and before returning to the gorge he thought it best to venture upon a little exploration of his own.
Possibly he might stumble upon some narrower pass, one unfit for horses, which would afford him a chance of getting out of the mountains without the great risk of meeting his old enemies.
For a short distance, the way was so broken that his progress was slow.
He found himself clambering up a ledge of rocks, then he was forced to make his way around some massive boulders, and in picking his way along a steep place, the gravelly earth gave way beneath his weight, and he slid fully a hundred feet before he could check himself.

His descent was so gradual that he was not bruised in the slightest, but he was nearly buried beneath the gravel and dirt that came rattling down after him.
"I wish I could travel all the way home that way," he laughed, as he picked himself up.

"I would soon get there, and wouldn't have to work very hard, either." But this was not very profitable work, and when he had quaffed his fill from a small rivulet of icy-cold water, he was conscious of the importance of going forward without any further delay.
"I guess the best thing I can do is to get back in that ravine or pass without any more foolery.

It looks as though the way was open ahead yonder." It was useless to attempt to retrace his steps, for it was impossible to climb up that incline, which came so near burying him out of sight, so he moved forward, with rocks all around him--right, left, in the rear, and in the front.

There was considerable stunted vegetation, also, and, as the day was quite warm, and no wind could reach him, he found the labor of traveling with a heavy rifle anything but fun.