It was a narrow,
gloomy, contracted gorge, a mere gash between those towering hills
shadowing its depths on either hand. A swift mountain stream, noisy
and clear as crystal, dashed from rock to rock close beside the more
northern wall, while the ill-defined pathway, strewn with bowlders and
guarded by underbrush, clung to the opposite side, where low scrub
trees partially obscured the view.
All was silent as death when they entered. Not so much as the flap of
a wing or the stir of a leaf roused suspicion, yet they had barely
advanced a short hundred paces when those apparently bare rocks in
front flamed red, the narrow defile echoed to wild screeches and became
instantly crowded with weird, leaping figures. It was like a plunge
from heaven into hell. Blaine and Endicott sank at the first fire;
Watt, his face picturing startled surprise, reeled from his saddle,
clutching at the air, his horse dashing madly forward and dragging him,
head downward, among the sharp rocks; while Wyman's stricken arm
dripped blood. Indeed, under that sudden shock, he fell, and was
barely rescued by the prompt action of the man beside him.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25