"Certainly I am going down. I for one have no intention of remaining
to watch the stock," with a grim glance in Chunky's direction. Chunky
saw fit to ignore the fling at him. He was gazing off across the chasm
at the Temple of Isis, which at that moment absorbed his full attention.

"Now I guess we are ready," announced the guide finally. "I will go
first. In places it will be necessary to cling to the rope. Don't
let go. Then, in case you stumble, you won't get the nasty fall that
you otherwise would be likely to get."

Away up, just below the Indian Garden, they picked up the slender trail
that led on down to the roaring river. They had never had quite such a
climb, either up or down.

Every time they looked down they saw a possible fall upon rough,
blade-like granite edges.

"We'd be sausage meat if we landed on those," declared Chunky.

"You are likely to go through the machine if you don't pay closer
attention to your business," answered Dad.

Carefully, cautiously, laboriously they lowered themselves one by one
over the steep and slippery rocks, down, down for hundreds of feet until
they stood on the ragged edge of nowhere, a direct drop of several
hundred feet more before them.

The guide knew a trail further on, so they crept along the smooth wall
of the Canyon with scarcely room to plant their feet. A misstep meant