Lassiter climbed with slow, measured steps, and blood dripped from him to make splotches on the white stone.

Jane tried not to step in his blood, but was compelled, for she found no other footing.

The saddle-bag began to drag her down; she gasped for breath, she thought her heart was bursting.

Slower, slower yet the rider climbed, whistling as he breathed.

The incline widened.
Huge pinnacles and monuments of stone stood alone, leaning fearfully.
Red sunset haze shone through cracks where the wall had split.