Gently patting the creature's neck she addressed it in soothing words, whilst with a wary hand she held the bridle, her touch upon the horse's mouth so delicate that the very breeze might have swayed it. Her hand did not tremble, nor her eye quail, although the ruddy tinge upon her cheek had altogether disappeared. After a time the horse seemed to gain confidence; his tremor became subdued, and, instead of the wild frenzy in his eye, there was a dull look, while the foam rose to his nostrils, and sweat bathed his limbs. She continued to caress his neck, and soothe him with soft words. Moving neither up nor down, to right or to left, with her delicate hand she still held the bridle. But the danger still threatened. She saw it as she cast her eyes below. The ground was crumbling slowly but surely beneath the horse's feet, and a fissure had already opened wide enough to show the deep, black chasm underneath. She shuddered, closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them, only to see the fissure widening--the blackness growing more intense. A prayer rose up from her lips. She waited for the catastrophe! The tension on the horse's nerves became too great. Again the animal trembled! Its knees began to yield! The ground seemed all at once to give from beneath its feet! His rider felt that she was lost! No--saved! Just as her closing eyes saw the courageous animal slide into the black chasm, and heard its last snort of her terror, she felt herself lifted from the saddle, borne from the spot, and then-- She knew no more. She had fainted! CHAPTER FOURTEEN. A TRUE GENTLEMAN. It was Cris Carrol who had rescued the fair equestrian. The old hunter had perceived her danger, and, with the quickness of thought, mastered the whole situation. Without uttering a word, he stealthily approached the spot, until reaching a tree, one of whose branches extended over the horse's head. To clutch it, spring out on the projecting limb, and lift the young lady out of the saddle, were acts performed almost instantaneously. What followed was not so easy. He had not counted on the feminine weakness of fainting, and, with the dead weight of the swooning girl upon his arm, there was still a difficulty as to his future movements. How was he to get back along the limb? He saw that nothing but sheer strength could accomplish it, and accordingly exerted all he had. With one hand grasping the branch, and the other around the unconscious form, he made a superhuman effort, and succeeded in reaching the trunk of the tree. Against this he supported himself until he recovered breath and strength. While thus resting, he was witness to the engulfing of the gallant steed, as the snorting animal sank into the chasm below. The old hunter heaved a sigh. He was sorry for the creature, and would have saved it had the thing been possible.