When the first ruddy rays of the rising sun crimsoned the eastern sky, Wetzel slowly wound his way down a rugged hill far west of Beautiful Spring.

A white dog, weary and footsore, limped by his side.

Both man and beast showed evidence of severe exertion.
The hunter stopped in a little cave under a projecting stone, and, laying aside his rifle, began to gather twigs and sticks.

He was particular about selecting the wood, and threw aside many pieces which would have burned well; but when he did kindle a flame it blazed hotly, yet made no smoke.
He sharpened a green stick, and, taking some strips of meat from his pocket, roasted them over the hot flame.

He fed the dog first.