Upon a flat rock, so near the cascade that spray flew over him, sat another hunter.  The roaring falls drowned all other sounds, yet the man roused from his dreamy contemplation of the waterfall when Joe rounded the corner.

“I heerd four shots,” he said, as Joe came up.

“Yes; I got a squirrel for every shot.”

Wetzel led the way along a narrow foot trail which gradually wound toward the top of the ravine.  This path emerged presently, some distance above the falls, on the brink of a bluff.  It ran along the edge of the precipice a few yards, then took a course back into densely wooded thickets.  Just before stepping out on the open cliff Wetzel paused and peered keenly on all sides.  There was no living thing to be seen; the silence was the deep, unbroken calm of the wilderness.

Wetzel stepped to the bluff and looked over.  The stony wall opposite was only thirty feet away, and somewhat lower.  From Wetzel’s action it appeared as if he intended to leap the fissure.  In truth, many a band of Indians pursuing the hunter into this rocky fastness had come out on the bluff, and, marveling at what they thought Wetzel’s prowess, believed he had made a wonderful leap, thus eluding them.  But he had never attempted that leap, first, because he knew it was well-nigh impossible, and secondly, there had never been any necessity for such risk.

Any one leaning over this cliff would have observed, perhaps ten feet below, a narrow ledge projecting from the face of the rock.  He would have imagined if he were to drop on that ledge there would be no way to get off and he would be in a worse predicament.

Without a moment’s hesitation Wetzel swung himself over the ledge.  Joe followed suit.  At one end of this lower ledge grew a hardy shrub of the ironwood species, and above it a scrub pine leaned horizontally out over the ravine.  Laying his rifle down, Wetzel grasped a strong root and cautiously slid over the side.  When all of his body had disappeared, with the exception of his sinewy fingers, they loosened their hold on the root, grasped the rifle, and dragged it down out of sight.  Quietly, with similar caution, Joe took hold of the same root, let himself down, and when at full length swung himself in under the ledge.  His feet found a pocket in the cliff.  Letting go of the root, he took his rifle, and in another second was safe.

Of all Wetzel’s retreats—­for he had many—­he considered this one the safest.  The cavern under the ledge he had discovered by accident.  One day, being hotly pursued by Shawnees, he had been headed off on this cliff, and had let himself down on the ledge, intending to drop from it to the tops of the trees below.  Taking advantage of every little aid, he hung over by means of the shrub, and was in the act of leaping when he saw that the cliff shelved under the ledge, while within reach of his feet was the entrance to a cavern.  He found the cave to be small with an opening at the back into a split in the rock.  Evidently the place had been entered from the rear by bears, who used the hole for winter sleeping quarters.  By crawling on his hands and knees, Wetzel found the rear opening.  Thus he had established a hiding place where it was almost impossible to locate him.  He provisioned his retreat, which he always entered by the cliff and left by the rear.