But he said he was scared to let go and drop, because it must have been pretty crowded in the cellar, and he knew the door was open, and some buck might be roosting outside handy to be stepped on.

But he knew he had to do something, because if he ever went to sleep up in that place he'd snore, maybe; and anyway, he said, he'd rather run himself to death than starve to death.

So he dropped.
It was two days after that when Buddy shuffled into a mining camp on the ridge just north of Douglas Pass.

He was still on his feet, but they dragged like an old man's.

He had walked twenty-five miles in two nights, going carefully, in fear of Indians.