“No.”
“Too deep down perhaps, sir.”
“Well, I can soon see if I go cautiously, and you let the rope pass slowly through your hands. But try first if the bell-mule will take a step or two in advance.”
“Not he, sir. I can see; he’s got his legs all spread-out like a milking-stool.”
The doctor was off his horse, and the next minute he was advancing slowly, with the lanthorn held near the ground.
“There’s nothing here that need have stopped him, but—Oh, what a blessing!”
“What is, sir?”
“Here’s short grass, and the mules cropping it.”
“Then there’s no cañon, sir,” said Griggs sharply. “The poor brutes are all dead beat; they’ve come to something that they can nibble, and they’ve struck work. The ponies are at it too. It’s as good as saying that they won’t stir another peg till daylight, if they will then.”
“Why, two of the mules have regularly squatted down, with their loads touching the ground,” said the doctor, holding up the lanthorn.