flooded meadow, a little below him. They stopped, seemed to consult, and
presently drew nearer.

Gilbert tried to shout, but the muscles of his throat were stiff, and
his lungs refused to act. The horse neighed again. This time there was
no mistake; it was Roger that he heard! Voice came to him, and he cried
aloud,--a hoarse, strange, unnatural cry.

The horsemen heard it, and rapidly pushed up the bank, until they
reached a point directly opposite to him. The prospect of escape brought
a thrill of life to his frame; he looked around and saw that the flood
had indeed fallen.

"We have no rope," he heard one of the men say. "How shall we reach
him?"

"There is no time to get one, now," the other answered. "My horse is
stronger than yours. I'll go into the creek just below, where it's
broader and not so deep, and work my way up to him."

"But one horse can't carry both."

"His will follow, be sure, when it sees me."

As the last speaker moved away, Gilbert saw a led horse plunging through
the water, beside the other. It was a difficult and dangerous
undertaking. The horseman and the loose horse entered the main stream
below, where its divided channel met and broadened, but it was still
above the saddle-girths, and very swift. Sometimes the animals plunged,
losing their foothold; nevertheless, they gallantly breasted the