There is something unhuman in the roar of an
angry river: it has a knell in it.
Roldan and Adan looked at each other. The latter's face had paled.
Roldan contracted his lids suddenly, and when his friend met the glance
that grew between them he compressed his lips and involuntarily
straightened himself: he knew its significance.
"We must cross," said Roldan. "It would never do to spend the night on
this side. If they followed, they would never suspect us of crossing. If
we remained here, we could not hear them until they were upon us."
"Very well," said Adan.
Roldan raised his bridle. The mustang did not move forward, but cowered.
"I don't like to hurt horses," said the young don, "but he's got to go."
He clapped his spurs savagely against the animal's sides, and the next
moment the waves were lashing about him.
Adan was beside him at once, and together they breasted the rushing
waters. The mustangs were strong and made fair headway, incited by
terror and the spur. The water was very cold, but the boys scarcely felt
it. Their eyes were strained toward the opposite shore, measuring the
distance, which seemed to grow less very slowly.
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