They had been obliged to tie the traces to the Terror, but there was no pull on them as Sandy had only to keep his horses trotting while Jack made the machine run itself.
Owing to the gloom of the night, the rubbers on the body of the Terror, the horses, lamps and driver any one would have imagined it was the regular old stage coach.
The people inside talked in low tones and every man aboard held his weapon ready for use.
Down pattered the rain drops with a monotonous sound, and the hoofs of the four horses splashed up the muddy water from the puddles in the road and beat on the hard ground with the regularity of clockwork.
They rattled along in this manner for quarter of an hour and ran from the regular road into a dark canyon.
Here the walls towered up hundreds of feet.
It was a very gloomy place.
"We must be pretty near the ledge road now, ain't we?" Jack asked.
"Yes; in five minutes this 'ere canyon will swing us out on it," replied Sandy. "That's where we're to look for them, ain't it?"
"Yes–if not sooner—"