422 The Hunting Grounds 



was scarcely room for a goat to turn. I was leading, 

 my horse being the most sure-footed, but here he 

 stopped dead short with a strange snort and shudder 

 that first made me feel the imminence of my danger, 

 throwing out his legs as if bent upon going no further. 

 A foaming river was roaring some hundreds of feet 

 below, so that we could hardly hear ourselves speak ; 

 and if I could I would have dismounted to recon- 

 noitre, but this was perfectly impossible. I could 

 not turn, and must advance : but auri sacra fames, 

 quid non mortalia pectora cogis ? What looked im- 

 possible was soon made practicable. Delay was dan- 

 gerous, so I loosened the reins, gently urged my 

 horse forward, and at the same time gave him the 

 spur. With a grunt of despair, and eyes distended, 

 he craned his neck forward, and, after a fearful effort, 

 managed to gain a place where the pass became 

 broader, when he broke out into a profuse perspira- 

 tion from terror. As soon as I was able to draw a full 

 breath I ordered my followers to dismount and go 

 over first, leading their horses with a cord, in which 

 manner all managed to get over safely. It was an 

 anxious moment, and I do not think any inducement 

 would cause me to repeat the feat; for, although a 

 fearless horseman, and endued with a sailor's eye, my 

 heart often palpitates when I think of that perilous 

 scramble. 



We continued to descend until nearly dusk, when 



