“Let your horse have his head,” she warned as the way became more treacherous.
Presently Connie called a halt. They tied their steeds to a pine tree and continued afoot. The trail became dangerously narrow, so that a slight misstep would mean a plunge over the sheer precipice.
“Let’s not go any farther,” Helena gasped. “I’m afraid.”
“You and Cecil wait for me here,” Connie commanded.
Leaving the pair huddling with their backs to the cliff, she hurried on down the trail. Connie knew every inch of it and had no fear of falling. But she glanced sharply at the overhanging bushes. Everything was still. Yet the girl had a feeling that her movements were being observed.
Using the crude steps which had been cut in the cliff by the ancient dwellers, Connie descended between two faulted rocks. As she picked up the trail again at the bottom, she saw something bright and shiny lying on the ground. It was a tiny silver knife.
With a murmur of astonishment she reached down for it.
“Why, that looks like Jim Barrows’ knife,” she thought as she examined it.
Connie remembered that the man had worn an ornamental silver knife fastened to his watch chain. Her reflection was a brief one for as she fingered the article, Helena gave a piercing scream.
Fearing that harm had befallen the girl, Connie thrust the knife into her pocket and scrambled up the cliff by means of toe holds cut there by the ancient dwellers. She ran along the trail until she caught sight of Cecil and Helena standing where she had left them.