Surely was it so. Into that seething rapid the steed had launched
himself--where the spume was whitest, and the rocks gave out their
hoarsest echoes. The four hoof-prints, close together upon the bank,
showed the point from which he had sprung; and the deeply indented turf
testified that he had made no timid leap. The pursuers had been close
upon his heels, and he had flung himself with desperate plunge upon the
water.
Had he succeeded in crossing? It was our first thought. It appeared
improbable--impossible. Notwithstanding its foam-bedappled surface, the
current was swift, and looked as though it would sweep either man or
horse from his footing. Surely it was too deep to be forded. Though
here and there rocks were seen above the surface, they were but the
crests of large boulders, and between them the impetuous wave ran dark
and rapid. Had the horse lost footing? had he been forced to swim? If
so, he must have been carried down by the current--his body submerged--
his withers sunk below the surface--his helpless rider--
The conclusion was evident to all of us. All felt the conviction
simultaneously. No--not all. There came a word of comfort from the
oldest and wisest--a word that gave cheer to my drooping spirit.
"Wagh! the hoss hain't swum a lick--_he_ hain't."
"Are you sure, Rube? How can you tell?" were the quick interrogatories.
"Sure--how kin I tell--i'deed, how?" replied Rube, a little nettled at
our having questioned his judgment. "What the divul's yur eyes good
for--all o' yur? Lookee hyur! and I'll show 'ee how I tell. Do 'ee see
the colour o' thet water?--it ur as brown as a buffler in the Fall;
thurfor it's fresh kim down; and jest afore the shower, thur wan't
more'n half o' it in the channel. _Then_ the hoss mout a waded 'crosst
hyur, easy as fallin' off a log, and _then_ that hoss _did_ wade
acrosst."
"He crossed before the rain?"
"Sure as a shot from Targuts. Look at the tracks! Them wur made afore
a drop o' rain kim down: ef they hedn't, they'd a been a durned sight
deeper in the sod. Wagh! the hoss got safe acrosst 'ithout wettin' a
hair o' his hips. So far as drowndin' goes, don't be skeeart 'bout
thet, young fellur! the gurl's safe enough yit."
"And the wolves? Do you think they have followed across the stream?"
"Ne'er a wolf o' 'em--ne'er a one. The vamints hed more sense. They
knowd thur legs wan't long enough, an thet ur current wud a swep 'em a
mile afore they kud a swum half-way acrosst. The wolves, they stayed on
this side, I reck'n. Look hyur--hyur's thur tracks. Wagh! thur wur a
wheen o' the filthy beests. Geehosophat! the bank ur paddled like a
sheep-pen."
We bent down to examine the ground. Sure enough, it was covered with
the tracks of wolves. A numerous band had crowded together on the spot;
and as the prints of their feet pointed in all directions, it was
evident they had not gone forward, but, brought to a stand by the
torrent, had given up the chase, and scattered away.
Pray heaven it was no mere conjecture!
With Rube it was a belief; and as I had grown to put implicit reliance
in the old trapper's wood-craft, I felt reassured. Rube's opinions,
both as to the steed having safely crossed, and the discomfiture of the
wolves, were shared by the rest of my followers--not one of whom was a
mean authority on such a subject. Garey--second only to his older
comrade in the working out of a prairie syllogism--gave Rube's statement
his emphatic confirmation. The steed was yet safe--and pray heaven, the
rider.
With lighter heart I sprang back into the saddle. My followers imitated
the example, and with eyes scanning the stream, we rode along the bank
to seek for a crossing.
There was no ford near the spot. Perhaps where the steed had passed
over the stream might have been waded at low-water; but now, during the
freshet, the current would have swept off horse and man like so much
cork-wood. The rocks--the black waves that rushed between them--the
boiling, frothing eddies--discouraged any attempt at crossing there; we
all saw that it was impracticable.
Some rode up stream, others went in the opposite direction.
Both parties met again with blank looks; neither had found a crossing.
There was no time to search further--at least my impatience would no
longer brook delay. It was not the first time for both my horse and
myself to cross a river without ford; nor was it the first time for many
of my followers.
Below the rapids, the current ran slow, apparently ceasing altogether.
The water was still, though wider from bank to bank--a hundred yards or
more. By the aid of the moonlight, I could tell that the bank on the
opposite side was low and shelving. It could be easily climbed by a
horse.
I stayed to reason no further. Many a hundred yards had Moro swum with
his rider on his back--many a current had he cleft with his proud breast
far more rapid than that.
I headed him to the bank, gave him the spur, and went plunging into the
flood.
Plunge--plunge--plunge! I heard behind me till the last of my followers
had launched themselves on the wave, and were swimming silently over.
One after another we reached the opposite side, and ascended the bank.
Hurriedly I counted our number as the men rode out; one had not yet
arrived. Who was missing?
"Rube," answered some one.
I glanced back, but without feeling any uneasiness. I had no fear for
the trapper; Garey alleged he was "safe to turn up." Something had
detained him. Could his old mare swim?
"Like a mink," replied Garey; "but Rube won't ride her across; he's
afeerd to sink her too deep in the water. See! yonder he comes!"
Near the middle of the stream, two faces were observed rippling the
wave, one directly in the wake of the other. The foremost was the
grizzled front of the old mustang, the other the unmistakeable
physiognomy of her master. The moonlight shining upon both rendered
them conspicuous above the dark brown water; and the spectacle drew a
laugh from those who had reached the bank.
Rube's mode of crossing was unique, like every action of this singular
man. Perhaps he adopted it from sheer eccentricity, or maybe in order
that his mustang might swim more freely.
He had ridden gently into the water, and kept his saddle till the mare
was beyond her depth--then sliding backward over her hips, he took the
tail in his teeth, and partly towed like a fish upon the hook, and
partly striking to assist in the passage, he swam after. As soon as the
mare again touched bottom, he drew himself up over the croup, and in
this way regained his saddle.
Mare and man, as they climbed out on the bank--the thin skeleton bodies
of both reduced to their slenderest dimensions by the soaking water--
presented a spectacle so ludicrous as to elicit a fresh chorus of
laughter from his comrades.
I stayed not till its echoes had died away; but pressing my steed along
the bank, soon arrived at the rapids, where I expected to recover the
trail.
To my joy, hoof-marks were there, directly opposite the point where the
steed had taken to the stream. Rube was right. He had waded safely
across.
Thank heaven! at least from that peril has she been saved!