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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"Riders of the Purple Sage"

He fancied that would be a miracle. Every few steps he
answered to the strange, nervous fear and turned to make sure the
rock still stood like a giant statue. And, as he descended, it
grew dimmer in his sight. It changed form; it swayed it nodded
darkly; and at last, in his heightened fancy, he saw it heave and
roll. As in a dream when he felt himself falling yet knew he
would never fall, so he saw this long-standing thunderbolt of the
little stone-men plunge down to close forever the outlet to
Deception Pass.
And while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginations
the descent was accomplished without mishap.
"I'm glad that's over," he said, breathing more freely. "I hope
I'm by that hanging rock for good and all. Since almost the
moment I first saw it I've had an idea that it was waiting for
me. Now, when it does fall, if I'm thousands of miles away, I'll
hear it."
With the first glimpses of the smooth slope leading down to the
grotesque cedars and out to the Pass, Venters's cool nerve
returned. One long survey to the left, then one to the right,
satisfied his caution. Leading the burros down to the spur of
rock, he halted at the steep incline.
"Bess, here's the bad place, the place I told you about, with the
cut steps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time and
hold on to him if you slip. I've got a rope on him and a
half-hitch on this point of rock, so I can let him down safely.


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