“There goes our venison steaks for breakfast!” sighed Julie, making the others laugh in spite of their troubles.
The sides of the canyon near the bottom were filled with dangerous sink-holes, or bogs, that were a constant menace to the riders. For let a horse slip into one of these and he might be sucked down instantly. But the animals were sure-footed and accustomed to such rough traveling, and they instinctively avoided all soft soil. Ever and anon, a horse would slip on a rolling stone, or a hoof would break through rotten timber, so that the scouts were being constantly jolted one side or another.
Finally they found better going along a narrow ledge that looked like an old trail. But it began nowhere and ended—well, it terminated suddenly just ahead of Tally’s next step!
“Back! Back!” yelled Tally, dragging on the reins with all his might.
That effectually halted the others, who were so close behind him, and Mr. Vernon leaned over to ask, “What is it, Tally?”
“Big hole—she go down mebbe fifty feet to bottom. Gotta back out and go round nudder way.”
“Oh, mercy sakes! Back out all along this narrow ledge?” cried the scouts.
But while they spoke, Jolt passed them, going on the verge of the ledge, and causing every one to tremble for his life. When he was passing Tally, the guide shouted angrily, “Whoa! Whoa!”
But Jolt acted exactly like a sleep-walker does. He paid no attention to sight or sound, and in another moment he would have walked right over the edge of the precipice, had not Tally jumped from his saddle and caught hold of the guide rope that had been tied to his halter before entering the gully.
This slight hold, however, did not save the mule from disappearing over the verge of the cliff, and it almost yanked Tally over, too. The only thing that saved the guide was Omney, who jumped to assist his friend when Jolt went by. The rope was instantly wound about a tree stump and braced. Then Tally climbed warily to safety, before the loose shale should crumble in with his weight.