Across from him, partially hidden by a line of slender crags at the river edge, was a beautiful valley, a low-lying patch of verdant meadow as different from the dead wastes above as a garden from a wilderness. Almost half a mile long by four hundred yards deep, it was backed by a straight wall of cliff, broken only by two ledges. Several tiny waterfalls tumbled from the face of the cliff, splashing to the upper ledge, where they joined and widened for the plunge to the meadow below.
In that deserted country the Red Deer had scooped out for its own amusement a veritable oasis, and enclosed it with unscalable walls.
That was Stamford's fleeting idea. But several flaws chased the romantic thought away. The valley was neither reserved for the amusement of the river, nor was it inaccessible.
A herd of cattle was browsing in the succulent grass. To the east the cliff sloped away behind the obtruding crags. There undoubtedly was the entrance. And with his field-glasses Stamford picked out on the lower ledge a rude shack that, to the bare eye, merged in the general greyness of the background.
Nothing else of life could he find, though the valley was only a few hundred yards from him. Then where were the dogs? And where were dogs must be humans.
Suddenly the barking broke out afresh, and two great dogs burst from behind a concealing rock, their noses pointing upward to the slope at the eastern end of the valley. Stamford swept his glasses all about, but for a time saw nothing to focus the clamour.
Then, climbing along the higher levels beyond the reach of the dogs, came into view the big form of Cockney Aikens.
In and out among the rocks Cockney moved, now visible, now hidden from view, examining every rock, every foothold; climbing downward, the dogs seeming to tear themselves to pieces to get at him. He lifted himself to the top of a rock and stood looking across the valley at the cattle, ignoring the canine protest. Then, as if startled, he leaped out of sight and did not reappear. The barks rumbled away to grunts and growls, and presently the dogs returned to the lower level.
Stamford was still watching with fascination their slinking muscular movements, when one of them raised his head to the top of the cliff and growled, and in a moment both were filling the valley with their disturbing din.
The field-glasses were turned on the top of the cliff. A man's head came slowly in sight and peered over. Then a long rope dropped away, and, hand over hand, the man descended rapidly to the upper ledge—sixty feet of descent without a pause.