"Oh Lord," he murmured, "our life is in thy hands: we confide in thy justice and mercy." Then, turning to his comrades, he said in a firm voice—
"Let us go!"
The hunters prepared to leave their camp, and Valentine placed himself at the head of the little band.
"And now," he added sharply, "the greatest silence."
The hunters advanced in Indian file, Valentine leading, Curumilla last. In this dark night it was certainly no easy task to proceed through this inextricable chaos of rocks, whose rude crests rose above immeasurable abysses, in the bottom of which an invisible stream could be heard indistinctly murmuring.
One false step was mortal; still, Valentine went on with as much assurance as if he were walking in the dazzling sunshine along the finest path of the prairie, turning to the right, then to the left, clambering up a rock, or gliding along an almost perpendicular wall, without once hesitating, or turning to his comrades, to whom he merely said at times in a low voice:
"Courage."
These four men must have been gifted with hearts of bronze, not to display some slight weakness during this rude journey, in regions which the eagle itself does not visit without hesitation. They marched thus for two hours, without exchanging a word; and after a long descent, during which they had twenty times run a risk of rolling to the bottom of a precipice, Valentine made his companions a sign to stop.
They then took an anxious glance around them: they found themselves on a platform of about ten square yards, all around being gloom, and it hung over an abyss of immeasurable depth. The mountain, cut asunder as if by Roland's sword, was separated, into two portions, between which was a yawning gulf about twelve or fifteen yards in width.
"We must pass over this," Valentine said; "you have ten minutes to draw breath and prepare."