"He don't look as if he ever done a lick of work in his life. Whoa, you 'Peggy.' Too clost to the pass for any of that game;" and Bill, with a laugh, gazed into Bob Somers' face.
"Might as well give it up, Bill—you can't scare me," laughed Bob. "Guess you won't find Tom Clifton showing the white feather, either."
"We hain't came to it yet," and Bill smiled grimly.
But the pass was soon reached. The road rose steeply, then stretched ahead in a level course for a considerable distance.
Bob Somers, in spite of his assurance, felt a strange tremor run through him, as they reached the dangerous point. Below, the jagged rocks extended in a sheer descent of several hundred feet, and between them and the bottom was but a narrow strip of turf and rocks. He clutched hold of the seat in a firm grasp and gazed breathlessly at the thrilling sight.
"Something of a drop, eh?" chuckled "Big Bill." "Toss over one of them rocks an' you won't hear a sound when it strikes."
"Great Scott, it's like being in a balloon," gasped Bob.
"It's taken the nerve of many a fellow—it has. Hey, young 'un, are you too scared to take a look?"
The driver leaned around and glanced toward the window. He saw Dave Brandon's smiling face looking calmly down.
"It's deep, and no mistake," observed the stout boy; "but not quite as bad as I hoped."