Then he began desperately to consider every possible chance of escape.
The distance to the bottom of the gorge was frightful.
The fall would be sure to dash the life from his body.
There was no way of climbing down.
The descent was sheer and precipitous, and jagged rocks were below. Neither could he hope to retain his present position long.
The tax upon the scrub was a severe one, and it had already begun to yield.
At any moment it was apt to give way. An awful horror overcame Royal Harding.
“Oh,” he wailed; “will the villain triumph in this manner? Am I to be thus consigned to death?”
It was the prayer of a despairing soul, and that it found speedy answer seemed an assured fact.
For suddenly Harding felt a shadow pass between him and the dying rays of the sun.