“Two words to that, Mrs. Albert Goldsborough! You may think you have a right to destroy yourself. But I’m dashed if you have any right to destroy my wife, after all the trouble I have had to get her,” said Albert, as he put spurs to his horse and bounded away.
Some little time Corsoni and Alberta lingered to take a light luncheon, and then they also followed after him.
They continued their way through the forest, which grew thicker and darker as they penetrated deeper into its recesses. At length, however, they reached higher ground, where the trees grew thinner.
And just as the moon arose they began to ascend that almost inaccessible part of the mountains known as the Black Bear’s Pass.
Steep, winding, difficult and dangerous was the way.
The side of the mountain up which the path wound was nearly perpendicular, broken into rocks, cut up with torrents and obstructed with a ragged, scrubby copsewood of evergreen. The precipice towered a thousand feet above them on their right hand, and fell a thousand feet below them on their left. A single false step must have precipitated horses and riders to death.
Corsoni went in advance and Alberta followed on her sure-footed animal. Neither the guerrilla chief nor his devoted wife thought or cared for the present imminent danger; for oh! a more horrible fate threatened them daily in Corsoni’s possible re-arrest than could be braved in a quick and merciful death by falling over this precipice. Indeed, the more terrible the dangers of the path the more assured was the heart of the guerrilla’s wife, since the perils of the way seemed to promise them immunity from pursuit.
They went on, slowly ascending this “devil’s ladder,” as Corsoni laughingly characterized it, until at last they heard voices in advance.
They had once more come unexpectedly upon Goldsborough and Elfie. The former was saying:
“Now, if your hands were free, my fair wife, you would have a fine opportunity of rolling us both down to destruction.”