As they hastened down the western slope of the hill the sound of water broke on their hearing, and then the stream came in view, a swift and narrow torrent brawling over rocks and ledges.
Guy ran ahead, and filling his helmet, offered it to Melton, who drank deeply.
“I feel like a new man,” he cried; “that was splendid.”
Canaris now led them down the stream for some distance until a shallow place permitted them to wade across. The valley had become a gorge. The sloping hills gave way to great frowning masses of rock so high and so close that no moonlight pierced the shadows. Finally the Greek stopped and pointed above his head.
“We must climb the rocks,” he said. “Are you equal to it?”
Melton looked dubiously at the steep side of the gorge, but before he could reply Canaris started up, and he had no alternative but to follow. Guy came close behind to catch his friend if he should give out.
The ascent, however, was not so bad as it looked. Canaris picked his way with great skill, winding along the face of the cliff in a zigzag manner. Had it been daylight dizziness would have caused them to lose their heads, for the gulf below grew deeper every moment, and at places the path was but a foot wide.
At length Canaris climbed over a big rock that barred the way, and then assisted Melton and Guy to the top.
“Here we are,” he said cheerily, “and just as safe as though we were in the Acropolis at Athens.”
They stood on a small plateau, protected by a low parapet of jagged rocks that extended in a half circle. The top of the cliff was close over their heads, and behind them was a natural grotto scooped concavely out of the solid rock. It was a perfect hiding place and a splendid point of defense in case of an attack.