But Rambler, lame as he was,
plunged so that Ford finally gave it up and started down the gulch,
leading Rambler by the reins.
There were many sharp turns and temper-trying windings, and though it
narrowed in many places so that there was barely room for them to pass,
it never grew shallower; indeed, it grew always deeper; and then,
without any warning, it stopped abruptly upon a coulee's rim, with
jumbled rocks and between them a sheer descent to the slope below. Ford
guessed then that he was boxed up in one of the main waterways of the
foot-hills he had been skirting for the past hour or so, and that he
should have ridden up the gulch instead of down it.
He turned, though the place was so narrow that Rambler's four feet
almost touched one another and his rump scraped the bank, as Ford pulled
him round, and retraced his steps. It was too rough for riding, even if
he had not wanted to save the horse, and he had no idea how far he must
go before he could get out. Ford, at that time, was not particularly
cheerful.
He must have gone a mile and more before he reached the point where, by
hard scrambling, he attained level ground upon the same side as the
girl.
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