For the most part they proceeded in silence, with hearing strained to catch the first sound of approaching foes; then suddenly to their ears came the noise of rushing waters.
A few paces farther and a great, black chasm yawned before them, splitting the plain in twain. At its depth they could only guess, but in width it appeared to be about thirty feet, and from its black depths arose the roar of a mighty torrent.
“See!” cried the baronet, “the ‘wolf-men,’ as you call them, must have crossed here.”
He pointed to where a frail, hide rope bridge—formed by two long strands united by numerous cross-ties after the manner of a rope ladder—swayed giddily above the abyss.
“It will take a bit of nerve to cross that flimsy thing,” he went on, “but I suppose there’s no other way; so here goes.”
He placed one foot carefully upon the first rung of the bridge, and was about to commit his whole weight to it, when suddenly he was dragged forcibly backward by his companion.
The next moment a knife flashed through the twilight on the farther side of the chasm, and the hide bridge, severed from its fastening, swished downward into the depths, and hung dangling against the rocky wall.
Quick as thought the Yankee’s revolver spoke, and a dark figure, leaping high into the air, hurtled over the brink of the abyss.
“I calculate he was a trifle too previous,” drawled Silas. “The flash of his knife gave the show away, or you’d ha’ been down there by now.”
Seymour gazed into the darkness below, then turned and gripped his friend’s hand.