strength of the rope--still a doubtful point. The ascent
had not proved it--for in climbing up, but one-half of our weight had
been upon it, our feet resting either against the cliff, or upon its
ledges. On reaching the plain, Rube was to submit the rope to trial,
before either Garey or I should attempt to go down. This he was to do
by adding a large stone to his own weight--making both at least equal to
that of Garey, who was by far the heaviest of the party.

All being arranged, the old trapper slid silently over the edge of the
cliff--Garey and I giving out the rope slowly, and with caution.

Foot by foot, and yard by yard, it was drawn through our hands, by the
weight of the descending body--now lost to our sight over the brow of
the cliff.

Still slowly, and with caution, we allowed the lazo to pass, taking care
that it should glide gradually, so as not to jerk, and cause the body of
our comrade to oscillate with too much violence against the rocks.

We were both seated close together, our faces turned to the plain. More
than three-quarters of the rope had passed from us, and we were
congratulating ourselves that the trial would soon be over, when, to our
dismay, the strain ceased with a suddenness that caused both of us to
recoil upon our backs! At the same instant, we heard the "twang" of the
snapping rope, followed by a sharp cry from below!

We sprang to our feet, and mechanically recommenced hauling upon the
rope. The weight was no longer upon it, it was light as packthread, and
returned to our hands without effort.

Desisting, we fronted to each other, but not for an explanation.
Neither required it; neither uttered a word. The case was clear: the
rope had broken; our comrade had been hurled to the earth!

With a simultaneous impulse, we dropped upon our knees; and, crawling
forward to the brink of the precipice, looked over and downward. We
could see nothing in the dark abysm that frowned below; and we waited
till the light should break forth again.

We listened with ears keenly set.

Was it a groan we heard? a cry of agony? No; its repetition told us
what it was--the howl of the prairie-wolf. No human voice reached our
ears. Alas, no! Even a cry of pain would have been welcome, since it
would have told us our comrade still lived. But no, he was silent--
dead--perhaps broken to atoms!

It was long ere the lightning gleamed again. Before it did we heard
voices. They came from the bo