“Rock broke loose.” She dodged.
The thing struck her on the head. No rock. It was soft.
Gropingly she felt for and found it.
“Leather,” she whispered. “Some little book.”
Lighting a match, she examined it. She had just opened this blank book and was looking at a picture between the pages, when of a sudden her heart stood still.
Something was coming down the wall, not bumping, but gliding.
As she waited breathless, her match burned her fingers. And still there came that scraping, gliding sound. Her match sputtered out. She was in the dark.
“Th—there it is,” she breathed as she pressed back against the wall. “It—it’s a snake!”
She was ready to scream with fright when the real nature of that gliding thing came to her.
“It’s a rope! A rope!” she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. Then—