"Look thar!" said Garey, pointing to the ground, and holding his torch
so as to illuminate the surface; "the hoss has made a slip thar. See!
hyar's the track o' the big wolf--he hes sprung up jest hyar; I can tell
by the scratch o' his hind-claws."
I examined the "sign." Even to my eyes it was readable, and just as
Garey had interpreted it. There were other tracks of wolves on the damp
soil, but one had certainly launched himself forward, in a long leap, as
though in an effort to fasten himself upon the flanks of some animal.
The hoof-mark plainly showed that the steed had slipped as he sprang
over the wet grass; and this had tempted the spring of the watchful
pursuer.
We hurried on. Our excited feelings hindered us from causing longer
than a moment. Both rangers and trappers snared my eagerness, as well
as my apprehensions. Fast as the torches could be carried, we hurried
on.
Shortly after parting from the mesa, there occurred a change in our
favour. The lights had been carried under hats to protect them from the
rain. This precaution was no longer required. The storm had passed--
the shower ceasing as suddenly as it had come on; the clouds were fast
driving from the face of the firmament. In five minutes more, the moon
would shine forth. Already her refracted rays lightened the prairie.
We did not stay for her full beam; time was too precious. Still
trusting to the torches, we hurried on.
The beautiful queen of the night kept her promise. In five minutes, her
cheering orb shot out beyond the margin of the dark pall that had
hitherto shrouded it; and her white disc, as if purified by the storm,
shone with unwonted brightness. The ground became conspicuous almost as
in day; the torches were extinguished, and we followed the trail more
rapidly by the light of the moon.
Here, still in full gallop, had passed the wild-horse, and for miles
beyond--still had he gone at utmost speed. Still close upon his heels
had followed the ravenous and untiring wolves. Here and there were the
prints of their clawed feet--the signs of their unflagging pursuit.
The roar of water sounded in our ears: it came from the direction
towards which the trail was conducting us, a stream was not far distant.
We soon diminished the distance. A glassy sheet glistened under the
moonlight, and towards this the trail trended in a straight line.
It was a river--a cataract was near, down which the water, freshened by
the late rain, came tumbling, broken by the rocks into hummocks of white
foam. Under the moonlight, it appeared like an avalanche of snow. The
trappers recognised an affluent of the Rio Bravo, running from the
north--from the high steppe of the Llano Estacado.
We hurried forward to its bank, and opposite the frothing rapids. The
trail conducted us to this point--to the very edge of the foaming water.
It led no farther. There were the hoof-marks forward to the brink, but
not back. The horse had plunged into the torrent.