Where was he taking her? To the yacht? No, they said it had been captured, and when they reached the frail bridge by the waterfall, they turned to the west and the sea-wall. Her hands were free, so, remembering some stories she had read of the expedients of other sorely-pressed heroines, she untied the red sailor's knot from the V of her middy-blouse, and dropped it upon the trail. But the trick did not work as in the old tales, for a gust of wind came whirling along and blew it over the brink.
The sheer distance to the bottom, and a sudden query flashing across her mind, dizzied her. Had they discovered that cavern? Was it there that the old man was leading her? Up till now she had been "game"—but to stay in that awful place with those evil men—that would be beyond her strength. Almost she was tempted to follow the dancing ribbon which fluttered like a gorgeous butterfly above the veil of the cascade, until, caught in the white meshes, it vanished.
They reached the sea-wall and the beginning of the perilous path. She was desperate.
"Old Man-whatever-is-your-name, I won't go a step farther."
"All right, Miss, if you think those rocks down there would make a nice soft bed for your pretty flesh."
He spat down into the gorge, then grasping her arm with one hand, with the other forced her head over the edge until she stared down into the cauldron seething around the rocks at the foot of the cliff.
"Take a good squint, sissy. It's a nice little drop, ain't it now?"
