The darkness, or rather the soft half-darkness, of the starry Eastern night had fallen over them quickly, like a veil. And now they were getting among the mountains, and the wretched track called a road was growing more and more indistinct. Presently they entered another narrow gorge, deeper and gloomier than the one before Charmelik. But for their dependence on their sure-footed horses, they never could have faced it, so narrow was the level track, so steep the precipice below, so dark and frowning the heights on either side above them.
But even the horses seemed to get puzzled. The track became fainter and more broken, until at last the travellers found themselves on sloping ground where it was hard to secure a foothold.
Not all Shushan's self-command could keep back a little frightened cry: "I shall fall! Hold me, Shack!"
Jack turned to help her, heard the slip of a horse's foot in the dry, loose clay, and for one awful moment thought both were lost. However, foothold was regained somehow; and Shushan's fervent "Park Derocha!" gave him strength to breathe again and to look about him. He saw distinctly before them another gorge, crossing almost at right angles the one beneath them, and cutting off their path, as it seemed to him. How were they to traverse it? How had it been done before, when he rode in hot haste with the zaptiehs and the Post, or back again, with Kevork?
And where was the path itself, from which they had wandered—he knew not how far? Great Jupiter shone above them, bright enough to outline their forms in shadow on the bare brown earth; and, looking carefully, he had light to discern a narrow, crooked thread of white winding some thirty feet below their standing place. He pointed to it. "We must get back," he said.
Shushan drew her breath hard, and looked, not at the perilous slope, but at him. "Yes," she said. Jack would have proposed to dismount, trust to their feet, and let the horses follow, but he knew it was not best. He knew too that he must restrain his longing to take Shushan's bridle and lead her horse—that was not best either. How she held on he did not know, nor did she know herself.
They were getting down the steep incline with less difficulty than they expected, and had nearly regained the path, when Shushan cried out suddenly, "Shack, I hear shouts." In another moment horse and rider both were on the ground. Jack could not tell until the end of his life what happened next, or what he did, until he found himself sitting on the path with Shushan's head in his lap, seeing nothing but her face, white through its dark staining. Her horse had narrowly escaped slipping down into the gorge, but had found his feet somehow, and now stood beside Jack's, gazing solemnly at the two dismounted riders.
Happily, Jack had his flask in his wide sash. He got at it, sprinkled Shushan's face with the water, and put some between her lips. After a few moments—it seemed like an age—she looked up. He began to lavish tender words and caresses upon her, asking anxiously if she was hurt, but she stopped him quickly.
"Oh, what does it matter?" she said. "Listen, Shack!"
He had been deaf as well as blind to all except her state. Now he listened. The mountain echoes rang with wild, discordant shouts.