For a time the engineer stood as if stunned, his big fists clenched, his broad chest heaving laboriously. Yet he was far too well seasoned in desperate adventure to give way to despair. Soon he rallied. He lowered his gaze from the heights to examine the cliff and the adjoining walls of the gorge. All were alike sheer and unscalable. The lines about his big mouth hardened with grim determination. He picked up the rope and began winding it about his mid-body above the low-buckled cartridge belt. He arranged the coils with such care that he did not notice the condition of the end of the line until he had drawn in over eighty feet. Then at last he saw. Though he had not forgotten to wrap the line with canvas where it passed over the cliff edge, he had thought the strands must have been frayed through on a sharp corner of rock. Instead, he found himself staring at the clean-cut string-wrapped rope end that he had knotted to the spike. For several moments he stood looking at it, his forehead creased in thought. What had become of the knot?... He could think of only one solution to the puzzle. He turned and gazed down through the gloom at the dim figure crouched beside the edge of the swirling water. "Locoed," he said pityingly--"Locoed.... Poor devil!" CHAPTER XXVI IN THE GLOOM When the engineer came down to the river, Ashton still crouched low, his dripping head close over the water, as if he was afraid even to look away from it. Blake rinsed out his mouth and stood up to sip slowly from his hat, while looking about at the awesome spectacle of the canyon bottom. His first glance was at the swift-flowing stream. His eyes brightened and the furrows in his forehead smoothed away. The river was not as formidable as its tumult and foam had threatened. It could be descended by wading at the places where ledges and bowlders along the base of the canyon walls failed to afford safe footing. He glanced up the stupendous precipices at the blue-black ribbon of sky, but only for a moment. His present thought was not of escape from the depths. He bent over to grip the crouching man by the shoulder and lift him to his feet. Ashton writhed about and glared at him like a trapped wolf. "Let go!" he snarled. "It was an accident! I didn't mean to do it!" "Of course not," replied Blake, releasing his grip but standing close that he might not have to shout. "It's all right, old man--my fault. The knot slipped." "You own it! You own it's your fault!" cried Ashton. "You've brought me down here into this hell-pit! We can't get out! Lost! All your fault--yours!" He made a frantic snatch and jerked the revolver from Blake's holster. The engineer caught his wrist in an iron grasp and wrenched the weapon from him. "None of that, old man," he admonished with a cool sternness that chilled the frenzy of the other like a dash of ice water. "You're here to do your work, and you're going to do it. Understand?" "My work!" repeated Ashton wildly.