But this only led us into worse disaster. We came to a spot where another stream, itself as fierce and swift and broad, joined the first. We were cut off hopelessly.
We had lost precious hours in this way. It was long past the dawn; and to make matters even worse I could find no trace of the streams on the map anywhere near Samac.
It was an awkward plight in all truth. To go on was impossible; to stay where we were for the waters to subside was useless; and yet to go back was only to put ourselves once more on the road where we might look for danger from those we knew to be in pursuit of us. The hours we had thus wasted had thrown away all the advantage gained by the night’s riding.
Yet there was nothing else for it; and with a bitter sigh and something stronger at the bad luck, I gave the word, and we started to return.
CHAPTER IX.
FROM BAD TO WORSE.
The crushing disappointment and the anxiety it caused, following on the fatigue of the long ride, aggravated the injury to my head so that I could scarcely keep in the saddle. I had to cling to the pommel to prevent myself from falling.
Mademoiselle was quick to see my condition.
“Let us rest, Burgwan,” she said.
“No, we must push on. They may get ahead of us. I shall be better again directly.”
“I am too tired,” she answered; and without waiting to hear my protest, she slipped from her horse.