A glance showed him that there was only one way of escape from the falling slice of ledge, and even that led to what seemed as certain death in another form. But there was one chance in a thousand, and that hope was enough to nerve him to action. The sheer descent to the Kanawha was over a hundred feet at this spot, but in a wild leap down this fearful chasm lay his sole hope. With a sharp cry of encouragement to Jack, he spurred the faithful steed forward—forward to the brink of the frightful depths, where for a moment horse and rider seemed suspended in midair. Another shout to the trembling horse, a wild glance backward, and the Postboy of the Kanawha made the flying leap to what seemed instant death! As he was carried downward as if on wings of air, a sharp cry rang on his ears, while his last look at the cliff had shown him the well-known figure of Buzzard Burrnock outlined with vivid distinctness on the uppermost point of the bluff. Then his breath almost left him, and a suffocating sensation came over him, quickly ended by a loud splash of water, and the furious struggling of the gallant Jack, as he reached the surface of the rolling Kanawha. Little Snap seemed to lose his senses for a time, and the battle which ensued on the part of his noble horse was not fully realized by him. Fortunately, the river at this point was clear of the huge bowlders that strewed its course only a short distance above, and the deep water flowed sullenly on its way. When our hero began to comprehend somewhat where he was, he found that Jack was swimming with the current in the middle of the stream. [Illustration: "As Little Snap was carried downward, a sharp cry rang on his ears." ] Then it slowly dawned upon him that he had escaped from that wild leap with his life. He found to his joy that the mail pouch was still hanging from its usual position. "Saved, Jack!" he murmured. "What a fearful chance, but you brought me safely through. Keep up courage, my noble fellow, and we will soon be safe on dry land again." This desperate ride of Little Snap's finds an equal in the mad leap of McCulloch, the brave pioneer of earlier days in Virginia, who, hunted by a party of Indians, in the vicinity of Wheeling Hill, was driven upon the bluff overhanging the creek, and, preferring death in the waters of the stream, rode off the precipice, the banks of which were higher than those of the Kanawha, where Little Snap took his fearful choice. Both the brave McCulloch and his horse escaped, as is verified by the pages of history. I know of no other instance of this kind on record, though there may be many. Little Snap had passed beyond the point of rocks, so he had lost sight of the Narrows, though the awful sound of the breaking rock still rang in his ears. Seeing there was no possible place for Jack to gain a foothold on either side of the river, he allowed the horse to swim on at the steed's own will.