“Oh, pray go on!” she cried wearily.
“Does the height make you dizzy? I should like to have you look over this cliff.”
“It doesn’t make me in the least dizzy. I know the cliff very well, and have been here many times. There are five or six hundred feet of sheer precipice, then a ledge of rock, then the lake.”
“You have described it admirably, madam. Well, what I shall do is this. I possess, within a mile and a half of this place, a log cabin not so large or comfortable as your house. I intend to take you there and to hold you prisoner until I receive back what is mine.”
“Mr. Nicholson would have mapped out a more feasible plan. How long do you think I shall remain captive without being found? To-morrow there will be a hue and cry after me—to-night, indeed, if I do not return. I shall be tracked by dogs, or an Indian will be got and put on the trail. Your scheme is absurd, Mr. Steele.”
“You have forgotten the cliff, madam. I shall lead your horse to the edge of the cliff, strike him with your whip, and send him over. He will lie dashed to death on the ledge six hundred feet below. The Indian or the dog will trace the horse to this cliff. It will be naturally supposed that you have been flung into the waters of the lake, which are another six hundred feet deep. Then the search will end, madam. Lake Superior never gives up its dead, and to dredge at that depth is impossible.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said; “your plan is better than I thought. There is just the risk that the horse, poor creature, may bound from the ledge into the lake, and in that case the search would not end at the cliff.”
Saying this, she rose and walked bravely to the very brink, looking over.
“Don’t go so near!” cried John Steele, taking a step towards her. She paid no heed to him, and for a moment he held his breath in alarm as she walked along the extreme edge of the precipice. Then she turned listlessly.
“Alas!” she said, “the ledge is quite wide enough for your purpose.”