out hesitation, chose the
latter.

Therefore he made his way cautiously to that structure. It proved to be
lying in broad moonlight. As it constituted the only link with the
outside world to the south, Bob could not doubt that his captor had
arranged to keep it in sight.

The bridge was, as has been said, suspended across a strait between two
rocks by means of heavy wire cables. Slipping beneath these rocks and
into the shadow, Bob was rejoiced to find that between the stringers and
the shore, smaller cables had been bent to act as guy lines. If he could
walk "hand over hand," the distance comprised by the width of the stream
he could pass the river below the level of the bridge floor. He measured
the distance with his eye. It did not look farther than the length of
the gymnasium at college. He seized the cable and swung himself out over
the waters.

Immediately the swift and boiling current, though twenty feet below,
seemed to suck at his feet. The swirling and flashing of the water
dizzied his brain with the impression of falling upstream. He had to fix
his eyes on the black flooring above his head. The steel cable, too, was
old and rusted and harsh. Bob's hands had not for many years grasped a
rope strongly, and in that respect he found them soft. His muscles,
cramped more than he had realized by the bonds of his captivity, soon
began to drag and stretch. When halfway across, suspended above a
ravening torrent; confronted, tired, by an effort he had needed all his
fresh energies to put forth, Bob would have given a good deal to have
been able to clamber aboard the bridge, risk or no risk. It was,
however, a clear case of needs must. He finished the span on sheer nerve
and will power; and fell thankfully on the rocks below the farther
abutment. For a half minute he lay there, stretching slowly his muscles
and straightening his hands, which had become cramped like claws. Then
he crept, always in the shadow, to the level of the meadow.

Bob was learning to be a mountaineer. Therefore, on the way down, he had
subconsciously noted that from the head of the meadow a steep dry wash
climbed straight up to intersect the road. The recollection came to the
surface of his mind now. If he could make his way up this wash, he would
gain three advantages: he would materially shorten his journey by
cutting off a mile or so of the road-grade's twists and doublings; he
would avoid the necessity of showing himself so near the Cove i