Once he stumbled and fell headlong, but was as instantly up again, bruised yet not seriously hurt.

His revolver was jerked loose from his belt, but the man never paused to search for it.
Even as he regained his feet, his mind bewildered by the shock, his ears distinguished clearly the cry of a woman, the sound of heavy feet crushing through underbrush.

It was to his right, and he hurled himself directly into the thick chaparral in the direction from whence the sound came.
He knew not what new terror awaited him, what peril lurked in the path.
At that moment he cared nothing.

Bareheaded, pushing desperately aside the obstructing branches, his heart throbbing, his clothing torn, his face white with determination, he struggled madly forward, stumbling, creeping, fighting a passage, until he finally emerged, breathless but resolute, into a little cove extending back into the rock wall.

From exertion and excitement he trembled from head to foot, the perspiration dripping from his face.
He stopped.