"Yes," I answered, "I understand, but I hope that things are not so bad
as that."

"They are," she answered with a quiver in her voice. "I have heard about
these Mexican brigands. With the exception of that priest and myself
they will put all of you into the coach and push it over the precipice."

At her words my heart stood still and a palpable mist gathered before
my eyes. When it cleared away my brain seemed to awake to an abnormal
activity, as though the knowledge that unless it was used to good effect
now it would never be used again were spurring it to action. Rapidly I
reviewed the situation and considered every possible method of escape.
At first I could think of none; then suddenly I remembered that the
driver and his companion, who no doubt knew every inch of the road, had
leaped from the coach, apparently over the edge of the precipice. This I
felt sure they would not have done had they been going to certain death,
since they would have preferred to take their chance of mercy at the
hands of the brigands. Moreover, these gentry themselves had driven the
mules into the abyss whither those wise animals would never have gone
unless there was some foothold for them.

I looked behind me but could discover nothing, for, as is common in
Mexico at the hour of dawn, the gulf was absolutely filled with dense
vapours. Then I made up my mind that I would risk it and began to
shuffle slowly backwards. Already I was near the edge when I remembered
Emma Becker and paused to reflect. If I took her with me it would
considerably lessen my chances of escape, and at any rate her life was
not threatened. But I had not given her the pistol, and at that moment
even in my panic there rose before me a vision of her face as I had seen
it in the lamplight when she looked up at the glory shining on the crest