Van was once more in his saddle. He started, and the ponies behind
resumed their faithful plodding at his heels.

A few rods ahead they encountered a change, and Beth could scarcely
repress a gasp of surprise and apprehension. The trail was laid upon
the merest granite shelf, above that terrible chasm. She was
terrified, frankly. The man and pony in the lead were cut with
startling sharpness against the gray of the rock--the calico coloring,
the muscular intensity, the bending of the man to every motion--as they
balanced with terrifying slenderness above the pit of death.

For a moment the girl thought nothing of herself and of how she too
must pass that awful brink, for all her concern was focused on the man.
Then she realized what she must do--was doing--as her roan mare
followed on. She was almost upon it herself!

Her hand flew down to the reins to halt the pony, involuntarily. A
wild thought of turning and fleeing away from this shelf of destruction
launched itself upon her mind. It was folly--a thing impossible.
There was nothing to do but go on. Shutting her eyes and holding her
breath she felt the mare beneath her tremulously moving forward,
smelling out the places of security whereon to rest her weight.

Elsa, sublimely unresponsive, alike to the grandeur or the danger of
the place, rode as placidly here as in the valley.

They passed the first of the shelf-like brinks, traversed a safer
contour of the wall, and were presently isolated upon the second bridge
of granite, which was also the last, much longer than the first, but