"By jingo, it must have taken years to cut into the solid rock like that," he said, reflectively.
"Hundreds, maybe," returned Havens. "Goats," he explained, "have regular beaten trails. You'll find plenty of them all over the upper parts of the mountains."
The group continued cautiously along, on the lookout for a break in the slope which might enable them to ascend.
"Down there is a mighty bad place."
Dick Travers pointed just below and to their left.
The steep declivity they were on led down to a ledge at the brink of a precipice, on one side of which the rocks jutted out abruptly, forming a spur.
"Think you could climb down it?" asked Jim, with a grin.
"I'd leave that for——" began the "poet"; then he paused, gripped Havens' arm, and whispered,
"Softly, oh, soft! Let us rest on the rocks
And disturb not a goat that so actively hops,"