Betty handed down the rifle and bag,
then lowered herself and he caught her in his arms. And then, in no
little uncertainty and not without grave dread of what dangers they
might encounter, they went on.
The slide was steep and yet by going very guardedly, lying face down at
times and inching down cautiously, they made a slow descent. The
tunnel grew steadily smaller as they progressed; their bodies shut off
the light. The terrible thought presented itself to Kendric that when
they came to the outlet it might be too small for them to pass through;
and that to return up the tunnel was a task which would present its
difficulties. So, when they came to a place where Betty could cling on
and keep from slipping, he called to her to wait while he went on.
The time had come when his rifle was an encumbrance; he needed both
hands to keep from slipping. He had had the forethought to turn the
muzzle downward, since Betty was above him. Now he craned his neck and
sought to peer down along his body. Far away, somewhere, was a glint
of sunlight, small but full of promise. He saw, as he had seen before,
a tangle of brush. He wondered if it were a clump of bushes on a
little flat? Or if they were shrubs clinging to some steep face of
cliff? When at last he came to the mouth of this chute--if it were
wide enough for a man's body to pass through--would the man have
reached safety or would he be precipitated through space and down a
fifty foot fall of rock?
"The bushes ought to stop the rifle," he decided.
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