And suddenly Fanny's terror vanished. She felt
quite free from weariness. She was alive and tingling to
her fingertips. The psychology of fear is a fascinating
thing. Fanny had reached the second stage. She was
quite taken out of herself. She forgot her stone-
bruised feet. She was no longer conscious of cold. She ran
now, fleetly, lightly, the ground seeming to spur her on.
She had given up the trail completely now. She told herself
that if she ran on, down, down, down, she must come to the
valley sometime. Unless she was turned about, and headed in
the direction of one of those hideous chasms. She stopped a
moment, peering through the snow curtain, but she could see
nothing. She ran on lightly, laughing a little. Then her
feet met a projection, she stumbled, and fell flat over a
slab of wood that jutted out of the ground. She lay there a
moment, dazed. Then she sat up, and bent down to look at
this thing that had tripped her. Probably a tree trunk.
Then she must be near timberline. She bent closer. It was
a rough wooden slab.
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