entered it, as if
no creature less savagely reckless than a cat could, by any possibility,
scramble through it without the aid of wings.

The greater part of it was the ancient bed of a mountain torrent, whose
gushing waters had, owing to some antediluvian convulsion of nature,
been diverted into another channel. The whole scene was an absolute
chaos of rocks which had fallen into the torrent's bed from the
precipice that hemmed it in on the west, and these rocky masses lay
heaped about in such a confused way that it was extremely difficult to
select a pathway along which the horses could proceed without running
great risk of breaking their limbs. The entire length of the pass could
not have been much more than a quarter of a mile, yet it took March
Marston and his companion full half an hour to traverse it.

When about half through the pass March, who led the way, drew up on a
small rocky elevation, from which he could survey the amphitheatre of
rugged and naked rocks in the midst of which he stood.

"Upon my word, Bertram," he said gazing round, "if Bunyan had ever been
in the Rocky Mountains, I think he would have chosen such a spot as this
for the castle o' Giant Despair."

"I know not," replied Bertram with a deep sigh, as he drew rein, "what
Bunyan would have done, but I know that Giant Despair has already
located himself here, for he has been trying to take, possession of my
bosom for at least twenty minutes. I never rode over such ground in my
life. However, it ill becomes pioneers to be overcome by such a giant,
so pray push on; I feel quite eager to see what sort of region lies
beyond this gloomy portal."

March laughed and turned to continue the scramble; Bertram removed his
brigandish hat, wiped his heated brows, replaced the hat firmly thereon,
and drove his heels violently against the ribs of his horse, an act
which induced that patient quadruped to toss its head and shake its
bottle-brush ere it condescended to move on. It was quite evident that,
although Bertram spoke in a half-jesting tone of Giant Despair, he was
in reality much delighted with the singularity of this extemporised and
interesting ramble.

"I say, Bertram, don't you like this sort of thing?" inquired March,
looking back at his companion, on reaching a somewhat level part of the
pass.

"Like it? Ay, that do I. I love it, March. There is a freedom, a
species of wild romance about it, that is more captivating than I can
de