“What accidents?” I inquired, with a nervous sense of some impending danger.
“Falling over: we are on a precipice that is reckoned dangerous on account of the clay; if your mule should stumble here, the first thing you would strike would be the branches of some trees five hundred feet below, or thereabout.”
“Good heaven!” I ejaculated; “is it so?”
“Never fear, Captain; there is not much danger. These mules appear to be sure-footed; and certainly,” he added, with a laugh, “their loads are well packed and tied.”
I was in no condition just then to relish a joke, and my companion’s humour was completely thrown away upon me. The thought of my mule missing his foot and tumbling over a precipice, while I was stuck to him like a centaur, was anything else than pleasant. I had heard of such accidents, and the knowledge did not make the reflection any easier. I could not help muttering to myself:
“Why, in the name of mischief, did the fellow tell me this till we had passed it?”
I crouched closer to the saddle, allowing my limbs to follow every motion of the animal, lest some counteracting shock might disturb our joint equilibrium. I could hear the torrent, as it roared and hissed far below, appearing directly under us; and the “sough” grew fainter and fainter as we ascended.
On we went, climbing up—up—up; our strong mules straining against the precipitous path. It was daybreak. There was a faint glimmer of light under our tapojos. At length we could perceive a brighter beam. We felt a sudden glow of heat over our bodies; the air seemed lighter; our mules walked on a horizontal path. We were on the ridge, and warmed by the beams of the rising sun.
“Thank heaven we have passed it!”
I could not help feeling thus: and yet perhaps we were riding to an ignominious death!