would be dashed to death down the side of the mountain, but apart from
this her quick brain was evolving all sorts of possible endings--none
short of absolute disaster.

Even as she prayed that something might intervene to check the mad rush
and to deliver her from the horrors of the moment, the raucous voice of
the driver was heard calling to his horses and the pace became
slower. The awful rocking and the jolting grew less severe, the clatter
resolved itself into a broken rumble, and then the coach stopped with a
mighty lurch.

Dragging herself from the corner, poor Beverly Calhoun, no longer a
disdainful heroine, gazed piteously out into the shadows, expecting the
murderous blade of the driver to meet her as she did so. Pauloff had
swung from the box of the coach and was peering first into the woodland
below and then upon the rocks to the left. He wore the expression of a
man trapped and seeking means of escape. Suddenly he darted behind the
coach, almost brushing against Beverly's hat as he passed the
window. She opened her lips to call to him, but even as she did so he
took to his heels and raced back over the road they had traveled so
precipitously.

Overcome by surprise and dismay, she only could watch the flight in
silence. Less than a hundred feet from where the coach was standing he
turned to the right and was lost among the rocks. Ahead, four horses,
covered with sweat, were panting and heaving as if in great distress
after their mad run. Aunt Fanny was still moaning and praying by turns
in the bottom of the carriage. Darkness was settling down upon the pass,
and objects a hundred yards away were swallowed by the gloom. There was
no sound save the blowing of the tired animals and the moaning of the