I suppose it was, but it did not interest me just then, as I kept my eyes riveted on Coyote's ears, not caring to look out or down. If you want to get an idea of how I felt, step out on the jamb of a window of a twenty story building and look down at the street, where the people appear like crawling ants and the street cars like big cockroaches.
We were now nearing the top when Jim stopped his horse and the whole line halted. He gave a low whistle of surprise.
"What's the matter?" I asked, anxiously.
"Washout on the line," he said.
"We're in for it now," I said. "Is it dry?"
Jim dismounted gingerly from his horse and went forward a few steps. Then I saw a broken place in the trail with a sheer fall. We were check-mated.
It was impracticable for us to go back with the horses, though we could easily go back on foot. It was also impossible to go forward.
Then I saw Jim step back a ways, and with a short run, he made the leap across. It was only five feet, but in such cramped quarters it was very difficult. My heart stopped as Jim jumped. His foot slipped as he landed and he saved himself from being killed, by grabbing the outer edge of the trail, a thin knife of rock, then he scrambled up, his moccasined feet aiding him to a secure foothold.
"Never say die!" he yelled to me. "I'm going to investigate."
Then he disappeared on top of the mesa. In a few minutes he came back dragging two round poles with him. "Lend a hand, Jo," he urged.