He then unfastened his lasso from his belt, and coolly began rolling it round his right hand. Curumilla smiled; he had comprehended his meaning, and, according to his wont, without speaking, he unfastened his lasso and imitated his friend.
"Good," Valentine said to him, with a nod of approval; "it's our turn, chief."
The two wood rangers put forward their right legs, threw their bodies back to get a balance, and whirled their lassos round their heads; at an agreed-on signal, the lassos slipped from their hand and whizzed through the air. Valentine and Curumilla had held the end of the rope in their left hand; they pulled at them, but, in spite of all their efforts, the hunters could not unloose them. Valentine uttered a shout of joy, for he had succeeded; he connected the two lassos, twisted them round a rock; and fastened them securely, then he turned to his comrades.
"Here is a bridge," he said.
"Ah!" the Mexicans exclaimed, "now we are saved."
These men, with their hearts of bronze, who feared no danger, and recognised no obstacle, could speak thus, although the road was most perilous. Valentine and Curumilla had thrown their lassos round a rock that stood on the other side of the canyon, and the running knot had drawn. In this way the communication was established; but the bridge, as Valentine called it, merely consisted of two leathern cords of the thickness of a forefinger, stretched over a precipice of unknown depth, at least fifteen yards in width, and which must be crossed by the strength of the wrists.
Certainly, before crossing this strange bridge, there was matter for reflection, even to the bravest man. To go fifteen yards hanging thus by the arms over an abyss was not tempting this gloomy night, and upon a rope which might break or become unfastened. The hunters hesitated.
"Well;" Valentine said to them, "shall we be off?"
No one answered.
"That is true," the hunter said with a smile; "you wish to know if the bridge be firm. Very good."