“All the gold that remains unmined wouldn’t tempt me a hundred feet down that black throat,” she shuddered. “But what became of the adventurer with the scheme?”
“He came through in time–they caught him at the outlet over there in the mountains. The one pocket that remained in his shredded clothing was full of gold nuggets, they say. So he must have found it, even if he couldn’t make them hear.”
“What a dismal end for any man!”
“A man could beat it, though,” said he, leaning forward in thoughtful attitude. “He’d need a strong light, and moccasins, so he could cling to the rocks. I believe it could be done, and I’ve thought a good deal about exploring it myself for a day or two past. If I don’t draw a low number I think I’ll tackle it.”
“Don’t you attempt it!” she cried, clutching his arm and turning her white face to him affrightedly. “Don’t you ever dare try it!”
He laughed uneasily, his eyes on the black gash into which the foaming river darted.
“Oh, I don’t know; I’ve heard of men doing riskier things than that for money,” he returned.
Agnes Horton’s excitement and concern seemed to pass with his words. She propped her chin in her palms and sat pensively, looking at the broken waters which reared around the barrier of scattered stones in its channel.
“Yes, men sometimes take big risks for money–even 36 the risk of honor and the everlasting happiness of others,” said she.
It was like the wind blowing aside a tent-flap as he passed, giving him a glimpse of its intimate interior. That little lifting of her reserve was a glance into the sanctuary of her heart. The melancholy of her eyes was born out of somebody’s escapade with money; he was ready to risk his last guess on that.