If a sober expression of sympathy came for a second in the horseman’s steady eyes, as he glanced where his pony was standing, it quickly gave way to something more inscrutable as he looked up at Beth, in advancing once more to the fore.

“Both of you give them the reins,” he instructed quietly.  “Just drop them down.  Let the bronchos pick the trail.”  He paused, then added, as if on second thought, “Shut your eyes if you find you’re getting dizzy—­don’t look down.”

Beth turned slightly pale, in anticipation of some ordeal, undoubtedly imminent, but the light in her eyes was one of splendid courage.  She might feel they were all at the gate of something awful, but her nature rose to meet it.  She said nothing; she simply obeyed directions and looked with new emotions on the somewhat drooping mare to whom her own safety was entrusted.

Van was once more in his saddle.  He started, and the ponies behind resumed their faithful plodding at his heels.

A few rods ahead they encountered a change, and Beth could scarcely repress a gasp of surprise and apprehension.  The trail was laid upon the merest granite shelf, above that terrible chasm.  She was terrified, frankly.  The man and pony in the lead were cut with startling sharpness against the gray of the rock—­the calico coloring, the muscular intensity, the bending of the man to every motion—­as they balanced with terrifying slenderness above the pit of death.

For a moment the girl thought nothing of herself and of how she too must pass that awful brink, for all her concern was focused on the man.  Then she realized what she must do—­was doing—­as her roan mare followed on.  She was almost upon it herself!

Her hand flew down to the reins to halt the pony, involuntarily.  A wild thought of turning and fleeing away from this shelf of destruction launched itself upon her mind.  It was folly—­a thing impossible.  There was nothing to do but go on.  Shutting her eyes and holding her breath she felt the mare beneath her tremulously moving forward, smelling out the places of security whereon to rest her weight.

Elsa, sublimely unresponsive, alike to the grandeur or the danger of the place, rode as placidly here as in the valley.

They passed the first of the shelf-like brinks, traversed a safer contour of the wall, and were presently isolated upon the second bridge of granite, which was also the last, much longer than the first, but perhaps not so narrow or winding.

Van had perspired in nervous tension, as the two women rode above the chasm.  Men had gone down here to oblivion.  He was easier now, more careless of himself and horse, less alert for a looseness in the granite mass, as he turned in his saddle to look backward.

Suddenly, with a horrible sensation in his vitals, he felt his pony crumpling beneath him, even as he heard Beth sound a cry.

A second later he was going, helplessly, with the air-rush in his ears and the pony’s quiver shivering up his spine.  All bottomless space seemed to open where they dropped.  He kicked loose the stirrups, even as the pony struck upon the first narrow terrace, ten feet down, and felt the helpless animal turned hoofs and belly upward by the blow.