Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1907-01-04

the road like a book, but 1 should like
our fellow to see where he's going in
the Berguner Stein"
sis it dangerous?"
"A ledge for carriage way, and a
precipice for a ditch on the near side, is
not particularly pleasant for the nerves
when you can't see your hand before
you"
You have been here before thenY
"Oh, yes!' he said, and so we fell into
silence.
1t was past six o'clock when we left
Filisur, tiny group of deep-eaved
houses, and dropped down the hillside to
the stream. AS we rose the further slope
through wood of scattered pines the
moon came peering out from behind two
bare and lofty peaks that lowered above
us into the southern night, lighting their
icy submits so that they glittered like
blades of polished steel. 1t was a scene
of such melancholy desolation that as our
horses halted on the crest of the hill,
lowered the window, thrusting cut my
head for better view.
In front of us the white road curled
down into a gorge, an ink-black wedge
of shadow that drove into the distance
between silver cliffs bright with the
moonlight.
us this the place you spoke Off? 1
asked.
IT'S the Berguner Stein, if it's that
you want to know" growled my cousin
from amongst his wraps. "Also, l wish
you would have the goodness to shut
that window"
But the remembrance of what he had
told me about the dangers Of the place
sent my eyes to the drivers box AS l
was leaning from the left-hand window,
did not expect to see more than the
fellows hat; but, to my surprise, there
he was well in view, his coat huddled
about his ears. As we moved forward,
the mystery explained itself. The man
| saw was not driving.
'We've taken up a passenger, Cousin
Graden," said l, pulling in my head.
whats that?" he asked sharply, for
my voice had been lost in the loud com
planning of the brakes as we trotted
down the decline.
"The drivers giving a friend a lift" l
cried, leaning towards him. IT suppose
he picked him up at the last village,
where
reached no further, for at that in
slant there rose from without a cry of
such utter terror that l sank back into
my place as if struck in the face by
blow, l saw a falling body
flash by the right-hand window; the out
cry of the brakes ceased with a grating
,lang. And then, with a bound like that
Of a leaping horse, the great post-car-
rage rushed roaring down the hill
l thrust out my head, clinging to the
;ills of the open window.
The man upon lie box seat was lash
ng the horses so that they sprang for
ward in furious bounds. Even as l
he cast away his whip with
peal of wild laughter that 50 1nded high
lbove the turmoil of the flying hoofs and |
he heavy wheels. He turned his head
pending sideways, the reins held loosely |
n his right hand. 1t was the face of |
Marnac that stared down upon me.
His hat had gone, his white hair |
backward in the wind. And |
lie was mad-mad with an open insanity |
# which l had observed no trace be- |
ore. He shrieked at me in triumph, |
waving his hand now to the horses. now |
o the chasm beyond the four-foot wall |
hat guarded the road. He cursed me
With furious gesticulations. Even as l
write, 1 seem to see those eyes staring
t me out of the white paper-eyes Cog
ling with the lust of murder. Heaven
end that time will wipe that remem-
rance from my brain!
1 shrank back into the carriage. that
ocked and swung and danced beneath
ne. Gradens huge shoulders almost
locked the other window; but 1 caught
light of the CLINT of his revolver in the
Moonlight. Was it to be man or horse?
)ne or the other, if we were not to leap
he precipice at the first sharp turn. Sud
emily he shouted, and again l struggled
o my post. In the darkness down the
DAD was the glimmer of lights. Nearer
nd nearer they drew, and l, too, raised
ny voice in a scream of warning. The
asst fifty yards we took in one bound
r so it seemed. saw a carriage grow
ut of the shadow that the cliffs above us
rev across the road; l saw our leading
orse swing to the left and leap blindly
t the low wall that hid heaven knew
that frightful depths below: and then,
nth a lettering slide that seemed to
french the heart out of me, we curled,
s a motor skids, into one thunderous
rash that blotted out the world.
MRS. HARLAND'S NARRATIVE.