“We are pledged to the leadership of the high-priestess, and humbly await her pleasure. She will hear thee fully,” was the response made by the young warrior.
There was something in his loyal speech which impressed Yermah greatly. He looked at him with an eye of favor, and asked him to show the way up the valley.
Rahula and Ildiko, refreshed by a night’s rest, accompanied by Orondo and Setos, recrossed the valley to view Bridal Veil Falls. The women were in raptures at the sight of the great falls, and insisted that their palanquins should be lowered frequently, to enable them to examine the graceful undulating sheets of spray. It fell in gauze-like folds, expanding, contracting and glittering in the sunlight like a veil of diamonds. Then changing into one vast and many-colored cloud, it threw its mystic drapery over the falling torrent, as if to shroud its unspeakable beauty.
Down the water leaps in one unbroken chain to an immense bowlder-formed cauldron below, where it boils and surges furiously, throwing up volumes of spray, while the sun haloes the abyss with two or more gorgeous rainbows. The swaying from side to side under the varying pressure of the wind, and the jarring roar of the water, thrilled and hushed the beholders into silent, spellbound admiration.
Yermah followed the north wall on past the Three Brothers which rise in steps, one behind the other, with their heads turned in the same direction.
The lofty columnar rock called Washington Tower has diamond-like cascades, which tumble down the sides of the Royal Arches more than two thousand feet. These wing-like spans form a sort of lion’s head, not unlike the winged lions of Nineveh.
With the column which forms an angle to Teneya Cañon, they seem intended for a base of adequate magnitude to support the North Dome.
The mighty powers of Nature, which have wrought such wonders in this region, cleft this tower in twain, and disposed of the fragments in a manner as mysterious as it must have been awful.
On the opposite side of Teneya Cañon is Half Dome—a perfectly inaccessible crest. From a distance one might fancy that the stone-cutter’s art had been brought to bear upon its perfectly rounded summit. Upon closer inspection it is found that Time has been the sculptor. The ages have cut out huge concentric layers of granite, and scattered them about in picturesque confusion.
Yermah rode on up the cañon until his ears caught the notes of a folk-song; then he dismounted and, fastening Cibolo to a live-oak, made his way toward the music. Astonishment and delight transfixed his gaze.