In that moment Roderick Drew thanked God that he was not afraid.  Standing full in the glow of the fire he stretched out his arms, as he had once before reached them out to this weird creature, and again, softly, pleadingly, he called the name of John Ball!  There came in reply a faint, almost unheard sound from the wild man, a sound that was repeated again and again, and which sent a thrill into the young hunter, for it was wondrously like the name he was calling:  “John Ball!  John Ball!  John Ball!” And as the mad hunter repeated that sound he advanced, foot by foot, as though creeping upon all fours, and Rod saw then that one of his arms was stretched out to him, and that in the extended hand was a fish.

He advanced a step, reaching out his own hands eagerly, and the wild creature stopped, cringing as if fearing a blow.

“John Ball!  John Ball!” he repeated.  He thought of no other words but those, and advanced bit by bit as he called them gently again and again.  Now he was within ten feet of the old man, now eight, presently he was so near that he might have reached him in a single leap.  Then he stopped.

The mad hunter laid down his fish.  Slowly he retreated, murmuring incoherent sounds in his beard, then sprang to his feet and with a wailing cry sped back toward the pool.  Swiftly Rod followed.  He saw the form leap from the rocks at its edge, heard a heavy splash, and all was still!

For many minutes Rod stood with the spray of the cataract dashing in his face.  This time the madman’s plunge into the cold depths at his feet filled him with none of the horror of that first insane leap from the rock above.  Somewhere in that pool the old man was seeking refuge!  What did it mean?  His eyes scanned the thin sheet of water that plunged down from the upper chasm.  It was a dozen feet in width and hid the black wall of rock behind it like a thick veil.  What was there just behind that falling torrent?  Was it possible that in the wall of rock behind the waterfall there was a place where John Ball found concealment?

Rod returned to camp, convinced that he had at last guessed a solution to the mystery.  John Ball was behind the cataract!  The strange murmurings of the old man who for a few moments had crouched so close to him still rang in his ears, and he was sure that in these half-articulate sounds had been John Ball’s own name.  If there had been a doubt in his mind before, it was wiped away now.  The mad hunter was John Ball, and with that thought burning in his brain Rod stopped beside the fish—­the madman’s offering of peace—­and turned his face once more back toward the black loneliness of the pool.

Unconsciously a sobbing cry of sympathy fell softly from Rod’s lips, and he called John Ball’s name again, louder and louder, until it echoed far down the gloomy depths of the chasm.  There came no response.  Then he turned to the fish.  John Ball wished them to be friends, and he had brought this offering!  In the firelight Rod saw that it was a curious looking, dark-colored fish, covered with small scales that were almost black.  It was the size of a large trout, and yet it was not a trout.  The head was thick and heavy, like a sucker’s, and yet it was not a sucker.  He looked at this head more closely, and gave a sudden start when he saw that it had no eyes!