He slung the gun across his back and began gingerly to clamber along
the stratified terrace. He found the rock extremely brittle and he was
a long hour reaching the green shale. He was panting and weary and his
hands were bleeding when he finally flung himself down to rest at the
foot of the black butte.
A near view of this massive structure was not encouraging; terraces,
turrets, fortifications, castles and above Enoch's head a deep cavern,
out of which the wind rushed with a mighty blast of sound that drowned
the sullen roar of the falls. Beyond a glance in at the black void,
Enoch did not attempt to investigate the cave. He crept past the
opening on a narrow shelf of rock, into a crevice up which he climbed
to the top of the terrace above the cavern. Here a stratum of dull
purple projected horizontally from the black face of the butte. With
his face inward, his breast hard pressed against the rock, hands and
feet feeling carefully for each shift forward, Enoch passed on this
slowly around the sharp western edge of the butte.
Here he nearly lost his balance, for there was a rush of wings close to
the back of his head. He started, then looked up carefully. Far above
him an eagle's nest clung to the lonely rock.
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