About half way down, a most disconcerting thing occurred. In attempting to recover his balance, Sandy dropped his rifle. It slid out of reach as he made a wild lunge for it, and a moment latter dropped twenty feet to the ledge below. The loud metallic clatter resulting, broke across the silence—so it seemed to Sandy—with a force and noise as terrifying as that made by a derailed express train dropping over a cliff.
The three boys stood huddled together in speechless dismay. Had they been heard? Would the sentries know now for a certainty that an effort was being made to escape?
Sandy recovered his rifle and, following a whispered consultation, it was decided to make their way along the slope of the ravine before descending further. They had succeeded in covering a distance of perhaps three hundred yards, when they paused again—this time in absolute terror.
Up along the ridge, not far from their previous barricade, there arose a medley of demoniacal shrieks and yells that would easily have struck fear in the bravest heart. So suddenly and unexpectedly had it come, that the three boys, white-faced and trembling, shrank back against the side of the ledge too frightened even to move.
CHAPTER XVI
A PATH THROUGH THE ROCKS
Following the first shock of surprise and terror, Dick reached out and clutched Sandy’s arm.
“Now is the time to cross the ravine,” he whispered tersely. “Our best chance. Come!”
The remainder of the descent to the floor of the ravine was made at the cost of bruised bodies and torn garments, but with a speed and dispatch that made caution utterly impossible. Dick’s shins and knuckles were bleeding as he helped Sandy to his feet and spoke again in a low voice.
“Are you there, Toma?”
“Yes.”