Indeed, it seemed that
these ruined cliffs were but awaiting a breath of wind to
collapse and come tumbling down. Venters hesitated. It would be a
foolhardy man who risked his life under the leaning, waiting
avalanches of rock in that gigantic split. Yet how many years had
they leaned there without falling! At the bottom of the incline
was an immense heap of weathered sandstone all crumbling to dust,
but there were no huge rocks as large as houses, such as rested
so lightly and frightfully above, waiting patiently and
inevitably to crash down. Slowly split from the parent rock by
the weathering process, and carved and sculptured by ages of wind
and rain, they waited their moment. Venters felt how foolish it
was for him to fear these broken walls; to fear that, after they
had endured for thousands of years, the moment of his passing
should be the one for them to slip. Yet he feared it.
"What a place to hide!" muttered Venters. "I'll climb--I'll see
where this thing goes. If only I can find water!"
With teeth tight shut he essayed the incline. And as he climbed
he bent his eyes downward. This, however, after a little grew
impossible; he had to look to obey his eager, curious mind. He
raised his glance and saw light between row on row of shafts and
pinnacles and crags that stood out from the main wall. Some
leaned against the cliff, others against each other; many stood
sheer and alone; all were crumbling, cracked, rotten.
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