“Never mind,” said Hume, with a strange laugh, “we have seen it. Forward!”
Somewhat reluctantly, they moved on, casting questioning glances above; but when presently the face was hidden by an intervening ridge, they shook off their fear, to be revived again when they entered the ravine. This cut deeply into the heart of a mountain, a vast and gloomy fissure where the sun scarcely entered, the haunt of the owl, but of no other living creature. Lofty walls towered above them, and the bottom was covered with a litter of loose stones and gigantic boulders. At each step the stones clattered away, and the sounds echoed and re-echoed.
They did not speak above a whisper, for a loudly uttered word was tossed back from side to side and rolled up in deep mutterings. And then the gloom was so deep, especially when a slight bend to the left shut out the opening behind, that it seemed as if night had already fallen, and one of them looking up, saw pale stars appear out of the blue. Still they plodded on, with many rests, as the incline grew rapidly steeper, and Hume affirmed that in an hour they would reach the top.
“It only wants that time to sunset,” said Webster, “and before then it will be too dark in this wolfs throat to see a yard.”
“At any rate, let us get as near the top as we can, so that we can reach the face before sunrise.”
“If it is there still,” muttered Webster gloomily.
Again they advanced, the darkness deepening, and the walls narrowing in upon them, until Hume, who was leading, uttered a sharp cry.
“What is it now, in Heaven’s name?”
“The way is barred. We’re in a cul-de-sac!”
They went up to Hume and stood against a great wall, which, as they could dimly see, stretched right across.