The trunk had been cut through, clearly and evenly, by some sharp instrument, and beyond question had been used as a bridge before.
"Somebody has been here ahead of me," reflected the lad, as he examined this interesting evidence, "and I don't believe it was an Indian, either.

I don't know what could bring a party into this part of the world, but they have been here surely, and if the bridge was good enough for them, it will do for me." He was quite certain that he could walk over, after the fashion of Blondin, but it would have been foolhardy in the highest degree, and he adopted the wiser course of putting himself astride of the trunk, and hitching along a few inches at a time.

His rifle interfered somewhat, but he kept up his progress, pausing a few seconds at the centre of the chasm to look down at the bottom far below him.
"Suppose the tree should break," he exclaimed, in a frightened whisper, "it would be the last of a fellow! No one could drop down there, and save his neck without a parachute.

I guess the best thing I can do is to get over as soon as I know how--" At this juncture, as he was on the point of resuming his onward progress, he noticed a peculiar jar of the log, accompanied by a scratching.

Mis first impression was that it came from behind, but, upon turning his head, could see nothing.