Prisoners of Chance

"Oak," I announced soberly, "and feels solid and strong. No doubt those Indians must cross here, but it is a bridge to rack the nerves."

"Will you adventure the passage?" questioned Cairnes, striving to peer across my shoulder. "As for me I would rather attempt the Red Sea."

"Odds, man, the choice is not given. 'T is either turn and go back, or foot the tree; of the two the attempt at turning would addle me worse."

I leaned out over the edge as far as I dared, clinging desperately to the root, and gazed down. It was like peering into the mouth of a great well. Then I nerved myself for the ordeal, and the next moment was fairly launched over the abyss, hanging on grimly to the log, my brain reeling as if with drunkenness. Yet I kept moving inch by inch, for there was now no stopping, and soon felt solid rock once more beneath my groping feet. With prayer on lips I crouched, sick and dizzy, close in against the wall, watching Cairnes where he followed along the same perilous path.