“Soldier never leaves his post without orders,” he replied. “Better stay, sir.”
Cyril hesitated, but stayed; now watching the spot where the colonel had disappeared, now letting his eyes wander round the place, which, as the growing light of day penetrated it more and more, was still awful enough, with its whirling mist, gloom, and deafening roar of invisible water falling behind the pearly veil, but far from being as terrible as when it was all shrouded in deep obscurity.
For the light came down softly from high above their heads, showing that though the rocky walls nearly approached, there was a firmly-defined band that would probably be bright and golden when the sun rose, but John Manning’s words were justified as he suddenly leaned forward and said:
“What a place, sir! It’s a wonder there ain’t four of us gone for good.”
Just then the colonel reappeared with half-a-dozen of the raw hide ropes used about the mules for lassoes, tethering, and binding on their loads.
These he threw down, and John Manning followed his example as he began to knot them together.
“Bear me?” shouted the colonel to the old soldier.
“Two of you, sir,” said the latter; “but you lower, I’ll go.”
The colonel shook his head angrily—the task of speaking was too much in his state of anguish—and he went on trying the knots he made, while Cyril picked up one end and examined a couple of the knots before making a strong loop, and passing it over his head and shoulders.
His action passed un-noticed for a few moments, for he had drawn back; but when the last rope was joined to the others, the colonel turned and grasped the boy’s intention.