The sturdy little ponies descended the slopes with the sure-footedness of cats; then sprang pluckily over the moss-hags which covered the greater part of the peninsula.
Suddenly, without warning, they became entangled in a treacherous piece of bog, from which they did not struggle into safety until Marjorie's pony had lost a shoe.
'Look out,' cried Allan, as they were about to spring forward once more; 'it's here that there are those holes that go down into the caves, and you don't see them until you've nearly fallen into them.'
Curbing their impatience, they dismounted and walked, leading the ponies by the bridle.
'There,' said Marjorie as they neared the cliff, 'the tide's rising, and they're shaking out the sails on the smugglers' vessel.'
'Shall we all go down?' asked Reggie.
'No,' said Allan, 'the fewer the better. You stay here with the ponies, and I'll go down with Marjorie.'
'Me?' said Marjorie, surprised.
'Yes, you. You've got to speak to him and get him to leave. Come along.'
They lowered themselves over the edge of the cliff, and clambered to the beach.