2 28 Musings by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



with every cautious step the path would appear and 

 become safer. There was no path — nothing but pre- 

 cipitous rock and treacherous marl, and the roaring 

 river in its rocky bed fifty feet below me. I could 

 not even turn and go back, for what I had passed 

 was certainly more dangerous than anything ahead. 

 Well, I made it, and was glad of a chance to 

 descend, and jump into the water where it was not 

 too strong for me. The chasm was dark, but I 

 managed, by resting one side of the camera on the 

 cliff and the other on my knee, to take two pictures. 

 Now how to get out, that was the question. Not 

 the way I came. With nerves not at their freshest, 

 and with full knowledge of the peril, the chances 

 would be against me. Looking around, I noticed 

 the ogress of the place. She was built apparently 

 of porphyry, with a singularly contrasting white or 

 light-colored death's-head and cavernous eyes, and 

 was leering right at me. She was seated upon her 

 throne, with four squarely cut stair-steps leading 

 down to a platform of rock, which was partly lost in 

 the spray. "Old lady," I said, "I didn't come 

 here to make love to you, not by a long shot; and 

 I'm not going down your steps, either. I'm going 

 to climb out; and I'm never, never going to honor 

 you with my presence again, never, never." There 

 was a sardonic grin on her cheeks, as if she thought 

 I couldn't do it. There was nothing for it but to 

 climb. It has made me shudder to think of it since. 

 I took a photograph of the chasm. The climb was 



