The strain on Ken's arms was awful. The depths below made his head swim. But he set his teeth, dug his toes into the earth, and held on like grim death.

'Let go,' said Roy briefly.

To Ken it seemed as though he were dropping his friend into the awful abyss. But he obeyed without hesitation.

There was a second of ghastly suspense. Then Roy was standing on the almost invisible ledge, balancing himself, spreadeagled against the face of the rock.

His hands moved slowly, the fingers groping for a hold. He found it, and clutching tightly with his left, raised his right hand.

'My bayonet,' he said quickly.

Ken slipped it out of its socket and gave it him.

Roy took it and carefully and deliberately drove it into a crevice in the rock on a level with his head.

'Chuck the rifles over,' he said. 'You mustn't leave them.'

Ken obeyed. A hollow crash came up from the black depths.

'Now I'm ready for you,' said Roy. His voice was so cool and steady that it gave Ken some confidence. 'Get as good a grip as you can and let go when I tell you.'

For a moment it seemed to Ken that he could not do what was asked. In any matter of fighting he was Roy's equal—indeed his superior, for he was better able to keep his head in the thick of it.

But he had had no experience of heights, and the blood ran cold in his veins at the idea of dropping over this terrific precipice. It seemed to him the only possible result must be that he would knock Roy off his narrow perch, and that they would go crashing together into the yawning depths of the abyss.

'You're not scared, are you?'

The contempt in Roy's tones stung Ken to the quick. He hesitated no longer. Turning quickly, he clutched the rocky ledge and recklessly swung himself down.

'Good man! I knew you could do it. Steady now! I've got you. Let go!'

Once more Ken obeyed. He fully believed that he was going to his doom. Instead, to his intense surprise, he found himself balancing on the ledge beside Roy.

Roy gave a low laugh.

'Sorry I insulted you, old man. I just had to. I know the sort of funk that takes you the first time you try this kind of game. And I give you my word there are precious few chaps would have stuck it at all.'

'Now I'll tell you something to console you,' he continued. 'The ledge widens to my right, and runs in under a big overhang. Once we're under that, we're as safe as rats in a granary. No one can see us from up above or from anywhere else, so far as that goes.'

Ken hardly heard. It seemed as if every energy he possessed was needed just to cling where he was, flattened like a dead mole nailed on a keeper's gibbet.

Roy went on talking in a low quiet voice, which gradually brought back Ken's confidence, and though his heart was thumping, and he felt as though it was impossible to draw a full breath, he presently managed to follow his companion along the ledge.

As Roy had said, it gradually widened, and after going very carefully for a matter of twenty feet it grew broad enough to walk on with some degree of safety.

A minute later, and they were in a deep hollow—almost a cave and absolutely hidden from all inquisitive eyes.

Roy laughed softly as he dropped to a sitting position.

'Gosh, I'd love to see Kemp's face this minute,' he remarked in a low voice. 'He'll be just about fit to tie.'

Ken did not answer. He had dropped down and sat with his back against the river side of the cavity, breathing hard. His face was very white, and big drops of perspiration beaded his forehead.

Roy glanced at him with some anxiety. Then he fumbled in the pocket of his tunic and brought out a small leather-covered flask.

'I've carried this ever since I left home,' he said. 'I reckoned it would come in useful some time. Take a sip of it.'

It was fine old Australian brandy, and although Ken took no more than a mouthful the effects were immediate. A tinge of colour came back to his cheeks, and his heart steadied at once.

'Proper stuff, eh?' smiled Roy, as Ken handed back the flask.

Ken held up his hand sharply. 'Listen!' he whispered.

Above their heads they heard heavy footsteps. Then came Kemp's voice.

'What's he saying?' whispered Roy.

'He's telling 'em to hunt among the rocks,' answered Ken in an equally low voice. 'He seems to be annoyed. He's using all the bad language he knows, and chucking in German swears where he can't remember the Turkish ones.'

'Must be a bit of a facer for him,' chuckled Roy.

'There's one of the Turks answering him,' said Ken. 'Says we must have jumped over to escape them.'

'Oh, that's Kemp again,' continued Ken. 'He's telling 'em to go down and see.'

'And what's the Turk say?' Roy asked eagerly.

'He says no one has ever been to the bottom, and couldn't get there if they wanted to. He calls it the ditch of Shaitan—in other words, the Devil's Dyke. By Jove, he's started Kemp cursing again. Wonderful flow of language the chap's got.'

Presently the voices above died away.

'So far as I can make out, they're going to have a try farther up the hill,' said Ken. 'It's lucky they didn't think of looking for our tracks. If they'd used their eyes they must have seen the place where we got over. I know I dug my toes in a good two inches when I was hanging on to you.'

Roy grinned.

'Thank goodness, tracking is about the last thing that would occur to a German. All the same, Kemp is quite cute enough to leave a guard posted here to watch for us.'

Ken looked rather startled.

'I hadn't thought of that, but it's very likely. Then it looks as if we should have to stay here all night.'

'I'd made up my mind to that already,' Roy answered. 'But it might be worse. We've got shelter and we're absolutely safe. Also we have our emergency rations, so we shan't starve. We ought to get a decent sleep for once in a way.'

'What—sleep on the edge of this precipice!'

'Why not? I've slept in worse places before now.'

'Supposing one rolled over in one's sleep?' said Ken with a slight shiver as he peered over into the awesome depths below.

Roy laughed softly.

'Don't worry. You shall sleep between me and the rock. It'll take you all your time to roll over me.'

The sun was down, darkness was already shrouding the depths of space beneath them. The Turks seemed to have left. At any rate, Ken and Roy could hear no more of them. The evening silence was broken only by the mysterious whisper of the evening breeze as it stole down the caÑon, and by a faint and distant popping of rifle shots.

Roy stretched his long legs and yawned.

'I'm for supper,' he observed, as he took his iron ration out of his haversack. 'We'll share this to-night, Ken, and breakfast off yours in the morning. Luckily I've still got some water in my bottle.'

The emergency or iron ration consists mainly of concentrated beef, biscuit, and chocolate. There is not much of it, so far as bulk goes, but it is very sustaining. Roy carefully divided his into two lots, and they ate slowly, and finished their slim repast with a drink of water.

Then, after chatting a while, they stretched themselves out to sleep. Roy, according to his promise, made Ken take the inner side, and in spite of his nervousness, he slept like a log.

Ken roused at earliest dawn. A thin mist floated beneath them, hiding the depths of the ravine. Musketry still crackled in the distance, but all around was very still.

Ken shivered slightly, for the morning air bit chill. He sat up and shook Roy, who was still sleeping peacefully.

'Daylight,' said Ken briefly. 'Time to get out of this.'

Roy sat up and stretched his great frame.

'What a life!' he said with a laugh. 'Yes, I suppose we'd best be shifting.'

'Shall we breakfast now, or wait till we get up topside?' asked Ken.

Roy gave him a quick look.

'It might be as well to feed now,' he said quietly. 'You see, I haven't a notion how we're going to get out of this.'

Ken stared. Such a point of view had never occurred to him. He had such implicit faith in Roy's mountaineering capacity that he had taken it absolutely for granted that Roy could find a way back to firm ground.