"I reckon we'd better go down thar, an' see ef he's all broke to pieces." They climbed down slowly and painfully, reaching the drift, but to their amazement Slade was not there.

They found his rifle and spots of blood, but the outlaw was gone, a thin red trail that led down a rift showing the way he went.
"We hit our b'ar an' took the bite out uv him," said Reed philosophically, "but we ain't got his hide to show.

Still he's all broke up, jest the same, 'cause he didn't even think to take his gun, an' this red trail shows that we won't be bothered by him ag'in fur a long time." Warner would have preferred the annihilation or capture of Slade, whom he truly called a rattlesnake or cobra, but he was satisfied, nevertheless.
He had destroyed the guerrilla's power to harm for a long time, at least, and not a man of his had been hurt.

He was sure to receive Colonel Winchester's words of approval, and he felt the swell of pride, but did not show it by word or manner.
Carrying the rifle, as the visible proof of victory, they returned to the cove, and received from Colonel Winchester the words for which they were grateful.

Further proof was the failure of Slade to return and the lifting of the terrible weight which a single man had put upon them.
They could now go about in the open, as they pleased, the big fires were built up again, and cheerfulness returned.
The mountaineers brought in more food the next day, and the following night Reed and another mountaineer crossed the ridge and were lucky enough to shoot a fat bear in a ravine.