“Have we to go down there?” Dorothy asked, with white lips.

“So, that is so!” observed Pepin soberly.  “If we go back there is the death that is of hell.  If we go on, there is the death we know or the life which means your father or your Pasmore for you, and the good mother and the home for me.  There is the canoe at the foot of this hill, and those we have spoken of down the river at Croisettes.  It is for you to make up your mind and choose.”

“Come, Pepin, let us go down,” she cried.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

The dwarf seized her hand, and, stepping over the brink, they began their perilous descent.  They lay on their sides, feet downwards, and at once the loose sand and fine pebbles began to move with their bodies.  Down the long slope they slid at a terrific pace that fairly took their breath away.  To Dorothy it was as if she were falling from an immense height.  The earth rushed past her, and for one horrible moment she feared she was losing her senses.  It was a nightmare in which she was tumbling headlong from some dizzy cliff, knowing that she would be dashed to pieces at its foot.

“Courage, my dear.”

It was Pepin’s voice that brought her to her senses.  She felt the grasp of his strong hand upon her arm.  Soon she became conscious that their rocket-like flight was somewhat checked, and noted the reason.  Pepin who lay on his back, had got his long stick wedged under his arms, and, with the weight of his body practically upon it, made it serve as a drag on their progress.  Dorothy felt as if her clothes must be brushed from her body.  She hardly dared look down to see how much of the fearful journey there was yet to accomplish.  Suddenly the sand and gravel became of a heavier nature.  Their pace slackened; Pepin threw all his weight on to the stick, and they pulled up.  Dorothy saw that they were now about half-way down—­they must have dropped about three hundred feet in a matter of seconds.  Then something that to Dorothy seemed to presage the end of all things happened.  There was a roar as of thunder over their heads.  Looking up as they still lay prone they beheld a terrifying spectacle.  A huge rock was bounding down upon them from the heights above.  It gathered force as it came, rising high in the air in a series of wild leaps. Debris and dust marked its path.  It set other stones in motion, and the noise was as if a 15-pounder and a Vicker’s Maxim gun were playing a duet.  For the moment a species of panic seized Dorothy, but Pepin retained his presence of mind.

“Bah!” he exclaimed.  “It is that cut-throat and blockhead, Jumping Frog, who has been throw down that stone!  But what need to worry!  Either it will squeeze us like to the jelly-fish or the flat-fish, or it will jump over our heads and do no harm—­”

He pressed her to earth with one strong hand as the great rock struck the ground a few feet short of them and bounded over their heads.  A warm, sulphurous odour came from the place of concussion.  An avalanche of small stones rattled all around them.  It was a narrow escape truly, and the very thought of it almost turned Dorothy sick.  She saw the rock ricochet down the steep slope and plunge with a mighty splash into the blue waters far below.