60 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 



drop, the head, with staring, strained eyes, thrust 

 forward, the forefeet drumming wildly. My eyes 

 sought Ewing's face. It was calm and still as the 

 rocks about. He seemed in no way altered by the 

 extreme hazard of the moment, but sat leaning for- 

 ward, slightly to one side, talking to the struggling 

 horse beneath him. 



"Easy, Bob," I heard him murmur, "don't get 

 foolish ! Easy, now, boy ! ' ' 



Then I came out of my daze. I jumped forward, 

 grabbed the roan's bridle and pulled with all my 

 strength. A heave, a quick, fierce scramble, and 

 horse and rider were safe. Ewing grinned cheer- 

 fully and patted his mount's neck. 



"Much obliged," he nodded to me. "I sure 

 thought we were goners that time." 



I was somewhat exasperated. 



"You must be crazy! You could have jumped at 

 first. Why didn't you get off when you had a 

 chance? You might just as well be there at the bot- 

 tom as up here, except for a piece of good luck." 



"Luck I" he laughed whimsically. "Well, per- 

 haps it was. I've always had plenty of good luck 

 of that sort!" 



The cynicism of his remark was unmistakable. 



"If that's the way you look at it," I said, "you 

 can drop off and be smashed next time. I wish I'd 

 known you wanted to commit suicide!" 



His singular humour left my companion abruptly. 

 His voice grew grave, with a winning sincerity. 



