"But look here: maybe, if we go on a scouting expedition along the ledge, they'll come over here, come across the bridge, and follow us."
"I don't know," Milton answered, "that such a proceeding on their part would make the matter any more serious than we find it right now. The bridge contracts over there to something like a ribbon of rock."
"Holy Gorgons," I said, "haven't we got into a fine pickle, though?"
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Bill: you remain here, like Horatius at the bridge, while I explore down along the ledge."
"I don't like it," I told him. "United we stand—well, you know the rest of it."
He was silent for some moments. Then:
"I think that we can risk it, Bill."
"Very well," I acquiesced, shrugging my shoulders. "But I tell you that I don't like it at all."
The next moment, however, he had turned and was moving away down the ledge. I stepped back to the wall (upon which two inscriptions were traced) and waited the result with such composure as I could summon.
At last Rhodes moved behind a projection in the wall. A few moments, and the glow of his light had vanished. He was gone, and I was alone in that terrible place.