On and on they rode in the gathering darkness till at length they could scarcely see a yard ahead of them, and were forced to drop the reins on the necks of the ponies, realizing that in such a situation instinct is a far safer guide than reason. Loring took the lead, and rode slowly and cautiously, peering about him in the vain hope of discovering the right way. At length his pony balked suddenly and threw back its ears. “Stop!” Stephen called back, as he slipped hastily from the saddle and took a step forward to investigate the cause of “_Muy Bueno’s_” fright. One step was enough, for it showed him that the ground dropped off into space at his very feet. “Whew!” he whistled softly to himself. Then aloud he said: “I am afraid, Miss Cameron, that you must dismount. Wait and let me help you!” But before he could reach her the girl was out of her saddle and at his side. She saw their danger and paled at its nearness. Then she said quietly: “Of course it is my fault; but we need not talk about that now. The question is, what are we going to do?” “The only thing we can do is to grope our way back by the way we have come, and hope by good luck to reach the main trail again. If the moon would only come up, we might at least get our bearings,” said Loring. “We ought to be somewhere near the Bingham mine,” Jean reflected aloud. “Mr. Bingham is a friend of my father’s and we have ridden over to supper in his camp once or twice. But I don’t know—I have lost all faith in my skill as a pilot.” Loring took hold of the bridles and turned the ponies. Then mounting, they rode into the darkness, where a slight thread of openness seemed to show their path. Time and time again the horses, sure-footed as they were, stumbled and went down on their knees, only to pick themselves up with a shake and a plunge. Wandering cattle had beaten so many blind paths through the chaparral or between the rocks that the riders were often forced to stop and retrace their way, searching for new openings. Stephen was afraid. It was a new sensation for him to have any dread of the uncertain; but every time that Miss Cameron’s horse slipped or hesitated he turned nervously in the saddle on the lookout for some accident to her. His was a nature which danger elated, but responsibility depressed. Had he been alone he would have rejoiced in the stubbornness of the way, in the rasp of the cactus as his boots scratched against it, in the uncertain sliding and the quick checking of his horse; but now they worried him, so intent was he on the safety of the girl with him. He knew that only good fortune could find their way for them before sunrise and he prayed for good fortune in a way that made up for his past unbelief in such a thing. Jean’s cheerfulness and acceptance of conditions only made it harder for him, as, with every sense alert, he led the way towards what he hoped was their goal.