Here was a sad blow to poor Westlake. His only companion, his faithful guide, and the only human being within fifty miles of him, lay a corpse at his feet. He had no means whatever of getting the body back to their camp, much less of returning it to the unfortunate red man's friends. He had not even a tool of any kind to dig a grave with, and the only thing he could do in that direction was to build a wall of rocks around the body, lay some flat slabs across the top, and then carry and lay on top of these a number of the largest and heaviest rocks he could handle, to protect it from the ravages of wild beasts. When this sad duty was completed he returned with a heavy heart to their temporary camp, and with as much of their luggage as he was able to carry started down the mountain. Arriving about noon at the tent, he was horrified to find the tracks of a large bear in and about it, the greater portion of his supplies eaten up or destroyed, and his horses nowhere in sight. A hasty examination showed that the bear had passed through the little park in which they had last been grazing--evidently early that morning--that they had taken flight and fled in the direction of the head of the cañon up which they had come. Westlake followed them several miles until convinced that they had really started on their back trail, and then he returned to camp. By this time night was again approaching and it was with a heavy heart that he prepared to pass it there, all alone, and still further depressed with the thought that he had now a journey of a hundred miles or more before him, to the nearest settlement, which he must undoubtedly make on foot. He ate his supper alone and in sadness, and as the camp fire blazed in front of his tent it cast fitful shadows into the gloom, which was unbroken by any sound save the occasional soughing of the wind through the pine trees or the cry of some wild animal. He finally retired to rest, but his sleep was broken by troubled dreams. As the sun arose he prepared a hasty meal, which was eaten in silence, and with a pair of blankets, a few pounds of flour, salt, and coffee, and his rifle, he started, leaving his tent standing and all else in it as a monument to the memory of his friend and a landmark to future hunters and mountaineers to locate the scene of his great misfortune. He traveled seven days before seeing the face of a human being or sleeping under a shelter of any kind, when he finally reached a ranch where his horses had preceded him and had been corraled to await an owner.