th it.
Tresler looked for the river. He knew it was somewhere near by. He
gazed away to the right, and his conjecture was proved at once. There
it lay, the Mosquito River, narrowed and foaming, a torrent with high,
clean-cut banks. He followed its course ahead and saw that the banks
lost themselves in the shadow between towering, almost barren hills,
which promised the narrow mouth of a valley beyond.

And as he watched these things, a feeling of uneasiness came over him.
The split between the hills looked so narrow. He looked for the trail.
It seemed to make straight for the opening. As the ground flew under
him, he turned once more to the river and followed its course with his
eyes, and suddenly he was thrilled with his first real feeling of
apprehension. The river on the right, and the hill on the left of him
were converging. Nor could he avoid that meeting-point.

He was borne on by the bolting mare. There was not the smallest hope
of restraining her. Whatever lay before him, he must face it, and face
it with every faculty alert and ready. His mouth parched, and he
licked his lips. He was facing a danger now that was uncertain, and
the uncertainty of it strung him with a nervous apprehension.

Bluff succeeded bluff in rapid succession. The hill on the left had
become a sheer cliff, and the general aspect of the country, that of a
tremendous gorge. The trail rose slightly and wound its tortuous way
in such an aggravating manner that it was impossible for him to see
what lay before him.

At one point he came to a fork where another trail, less defined,
branched away to the right. For a moment he dreaded lest the mare
should adopt the new way. He knew what lay out there--the river.
However, his fears were quickly allayed. The Lady Jezebel had no
intention of leaving the road she was on.

They passed the fork, and he sighed his relief. But his relief was
short-lived. Without a sign or warning the trail he was on died out,
and his course lay over a narrow level flat sparsely dotted with
small, stubbly bush. Now he knew that the mare had been true to
herself. She had passed the real trail by, and was running headlong
to----

He dared think no more. He knew the crisis was at hand. He had reached
the narrowest point of the opening between the two hills, and there
stretched the river right across his path less than fifty yards ahead.
It took no central course--as might have been expected--through the
gorge. It met th