The next the bony hand had clutched his wrist like a vice.
"That's better," said the old man.

"Now you can slip if you like, and I can hold you if you do." There was nothing else for Nic to hold but his tongue and his breath, as he stepped on to the rugged wood in the black darkness, for the moonbeams were shut out now by the rocks, overhead, and then, as he took step for step behind his companion, so close to him that he kept kicking his heels, he felt the difference underfoot for a few paces and the tree trunk yield and give a little in an elastic way.

Then all at once the character of the path was changed, and Nic felt the hard rock beneath his feet.
"Is that deep ?" he said, rather huskily.
"Well, with what we've got not far away we don't call that deep.

It's on'y a sort o' crack like.

'Bout hundred and fifty foot, say." "A hundred and fifty feet!" cried Nic, with an involuntary shiver.
"Somewheres about that," said Samson coolly.