There was some stunted herbage too, here, upon which, as soon as they had drunk, the mules began to browse. But no load was removed, arms were ready for an attack, and the only mule that was lightened was the one that bore the provisions.

And now Perry was questioned more closely about his escape, and Cyril heard it from his lips for the first time.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

PERRY'S PERIL.

"There isn't much to tell," said the boy with a shiver.

"Never mind; tell me: I want to know. What's the matter--cold?"

"No, I'm warm enough now," said Perry, "for my clothes have got dry; but it makes me shiver as soon as I think about it, and I feel as if I always shall. It's a thing I shall dream about of a night, and wake up feeling the water strangling me."

Cyril looked at him in wonder, and the boy tried to smile, but it was a very pitiful attempt, and he went on hurriedly.

"You know how horrible all that was when I felt sure that my father had gone down somewhere, and something forced me to go and try to find him.

And then, as I went on through the mist, I only took three or four steps before my feet gave way, and I was sliding at a terrible rate down, down to where the water was thundering and roaring."

"Was it very deep?" said Cyril, for his companion paused.

"I don't know; I seemed to be sliding along very fast, and then I was fighting for breath, and being dashed here and there, and I suppose I was carried along by the water almost as swiftly as I slid down that dreadful slope. Then, after fighting for my breath, all was confusion and darkness, and I can't remember any more till I found myself lying among some rocks. The water was rushing and foaming over my legs, and every now and then rushing up over my chest, and making me feel so in fear of being drowned that I climbed a little, and then a little more, till I was out of the water, but afraid to move in the darkness in case I should fall in again."

"Where were you?" said Cyril.

"I didn't know then, but lay aching with the cold, and listening to the rushing water; while it was so dark, that I felt sure that I must have been washed into some great hole underground, where I should lie till I was dead."

"We felt all kinds of horrors about you," said Cyril, "but you seem to have suffered more than we did."

"I don't know," said Perry plaintively. "It was very bad, though, and if I hadn't fallen at last into a sort of stupor, I've thought since that I should have gone mad."

"Stupor!" said Cyril, smiling. "You mean you went to sleep."

Perry looked at him so reproachfully that Cyril felt the blood flush into his cheeks, and the colour deepened as his companion said: "How could a fellow go to sleep when he believes his father has been killed, and he has himself just escaped from a horrible death?"

"Don't take any notice of what I said," cried Cyril hurriedly; "I did not mean it."

"I know you did not. I suppose it was from being so exhausted. I felt as if I had been stunned, and could neither think nor stir, and then this curious feeling came over me, and everything pa.s.sed away. It was not sleep."

"No, no; don't say that again," cried Cyril apologetically. "How long were you like that?"

"I don't know, only that it was still dark when I came to, and sat wondering where I was, and whether I should ever see the light again, so miserable and desolate you cannot think."

"Yes, I can," said Cyril warmly; "I felt bad, too, when I thought you were drowned, and went down to try to find you."

"What!" cried Perry excitedly. "You went down to try to find me?"

"Oh yes," said Cyril coolly. "Didn't you know? They put a rope round me and let me down."

"Cil!"

"Well, don't make a fuss about it," said Cyril, laughing. "They had hold of the rope."

"But the place was so awful. Didn't you feel frightened?"

"Horribly, of course, and it was ever so much worse when I'd got to the end of the rope, and felt that you must be gone. But never mind that.

Go on. You were saying how miserable you were."

"Yes," said Perry thoughtfully, "till all at once I caught sight of something high up, just as if it was a point of light coming through a crack in the roof of the cavern into which I had been washed."

"And was it?"

"No," said the boy, with his eyes brightening, "it was the first light of morning shining miles up on the ice of one of the great peaks, and as I watched it, I saw it get brighter and then begin to glow as if it were a precious stone. The light gradually stole down lower and lower, till it seemed to come right into my heart; and from that moment I began to grow strong and hopeful, and something seemed to tell me that I should see you all again."

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Cyril, as he watched his friend's countenance; "I wish something of that kind had come to me when I was feeling worst."

"You weren't alone," said Perry, smiling. "Well, as soon as I found that I was just at the edge of a rushing torrent, I knew that if I followed it up, I should come to the mouth of the gorge where you must be, and I began to climb along the side, getting warmer every minute; and I felt more hopeful too, for I began to think how clever my father was, and that he would have been able to save himself, or have been saved, just as I was."

"And then you soon found the mouth of the gorge where the water came out?"

"Yes, and the place where we turned in last night, instead of going right on down the main valley. It was quite a climb up to the path, but I dragged myself up; and just then I happened to turn my eyes along the way we came just as I was warmest, and then I turned cold again."

"Because you saw the Indians?"

Perry nodded, and the boys sat in silence for a few minutes, looking up at the sunlit sky, which appeared like a broad jagged path running along high above their heads.

"What are you thinking about?" said Perry suddenly, as he noted the thoughtful, deeply-lined brow of his companion.

"Eh? Oh, nothing much," replied Cyril. "Only that when I knew you were coming up into the mountains, I felt so jealous of you, and I fancied that you were coming to see all kinds of wonders and make great discoveries, and that it would be one grand holiday, day after day, and instead of that--I say, we haven't had so very much fun yet, have we?"

"Plenty of adventures," replied Perry thoughtfully.

"Yes, plenty of adventures."

"It's been so hard upon you, though, from the first. You were so upset when you joined us."

"And serve me right," cried Cyril angrily. "I'd no business to do it; I believe they think at home that I'm dead. Nothing's too bad to happen to me."

"Then you're sorry you came?"

"Yes; horribly. I don't mind all we've gone through, because it has seemed to stir me up so, and made me feel as if I'd got more stuff in me; and it ought to, for sometimes I've felt, since we came, that I behaved like a miserable, thoughtless coward."

"No one could call you a coward," said Perry firmly.

"Oh yes, they could--a miserable, selfish coward."

"I should just like to hear any one call you one," said Perry viciously, and with a hard, fierce look in his countenance.