| caption: |
Chapter Thirteen. The Camp On a Peak |
| caption: |
crossing slippery tree-trunk bridge |
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(114) A huge tree had fallen across the stream or perhaps the Nagas had pushed it there to act as a bridge. It was still wet from the night's rain, but the long file of our porters unconcernedly balanced their loads over the slippery trunk. For my part I hated such tree-bridges as my nailed boots found no grip on the slimy bark. But rather than wade through the cold water, I tried my hand as a tight-rope dancer, contributing at least to the amusement of the party. Mills shared my prejudice against such tree-bridges, and usually preferred the wet but secure way through the river. |
