Occasionally a heavy, irregular sound would break the stillness, as some projection of a cliff became loosened and tumbled down the steep declivity.
Semitzin, however, held on her way fearlessly and without hesitation, and the Indian, with the pack-horse, followed as best he might, now and then losing sight for a moment of the slight, grayish figure in front of him.

At length she disappeared behind the jutting profile of a great promontory which formed a main angle of the gorge.

When he came up with her, she was kneeling beside the prostrate form of a man, supporting his head upon her knee.
Kamaiakan approached, and looked at the face of the man, which was pale; the eyes were closed.

A streak of blood, from a wound on the head, descended over the right side of the forehead.
"Is he dead ?" the Indian asked.
"He is not dead," replied Semitzin.

"A flying stone has struck him; but his heart beats: he will be well again." She poured some water from her canteen over his face, and bent her ear over his lips.