“Well, say half-a-mile.”
“What nonsense!”
“Say quarter of a mile then,” cried Griggs sharply.
“Divided by what?”
“You are hard to please. I didn’t measure the distance; but I will as soon as we’ve got rid of these precious redskins.”
“Don’t,” said Chris. “I didn’t fall far, and it was most of it sliding down.”
“Turn round,” cried the American, “and set your eyes at the very bottom of the cliff, and then run them up to the sharp edge where we saw you having that battle with your poor mustang before you went over, and then tell me again that you didn’t fall far.”
“Don’t want to,” said Chris, who looked all the same, and felt a little shiver as of something cold running down his back. “There, I’m off.”
“Where are you going? The doctor said you were to rest.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” said Chris, “but I must go and see how my pony is.”