The maddened horses, alternately rising and sinking, writhed and twisted in agonies of pain. The men's voices mingled with the gushing torrent and the splashing water, which rose higher and higher at each plunge, while a shrill shriek from within the wagon topped all, and in its cadence seemed to speak a heart torn with terror. As I looked, the sun had set; and as speedily as though a curtain had fallen, the soft light of evening gave way to a gray darkness. I rode down to the bank, and as I reached it, one of the horses, after a terrific struggle to get free, plunged head foremost down and disappeared. The other, unable by himself alone to resist the weight of the wagon, which already was floating in the stream, swung round with the torrent, and was now dragging along toward the cataract. The dusky indistinctness even added to the terror of the picture, as the white water splashed up on every side, and at times seemed actually to cover the whole party in its scattering foam. The Friar, now leaning back, tore open one of the curtains, and at the same instant I saw a female arm stretch out and clasp him, while a shrill cry burst forth that thrilled to my very heart.
They were already within a few yards of the cataract; a moment or two more, they must be over it and lost! I spurred Charry forward, and down we plunged into the water, without the slightest thought of what was to follow. Half swimming, half bounding, I reached the wagon, which now, broadside on the falls, tottered with every stroke of the fast rolling river. The Mexican was standing on the pole, and endeavoring to hold back the horse; while the Friar, ripping the canvas with his knife, was endeavoring to extricate the female figure, who, sunk on her knees, seemed utterly incapable of any effort for her own safety.
Whether maddened by the bite of some monster beneath the water, or having lost his footing, I know not, but the horse went over the falls, while the Mexican, vainly endeavoring to hold him, was carried down with him; the wagon, reeling with the shock, heeled over to the side, and was fast sinking, when I caught hold of the outstretched hand of the woman and drew her towards me. “Leap, spring towards him!” cried the Friar; and she obeyed the words, and, with a bound, seated herself behind me.
Breasting the water bravely, Charry bounded on, and in less than a minute reached the bank, which the Friar, by the aid of a leaping-pole, had gained before us.
Having placed the half-lifeless girl on the sward, I hastened to see after the poor Mexican. Alas! of him and the horse we never saw trace afterwards. We called aloud, we shouted, and even continued along the stream for a considerable space; but to no purpose, the poor fellow had evidently perished,—perhaps by a death too horrible to think of. The Friar wrung his hands in agony, and mingled his thanksgiving for his own safety with lamentations for his lost companion; and so intent was he on these themes that he never recognized me, nor, indeed, seemed conscious of my presence. At last, as we turned our steps towards where the girl lay, he said, “Is it possible that you are the caballero we parted with before sunset?”
“Yes,” said I, “the same. You were loth to accept of my company, but you see there is a fate in it, after all; you cannot get rid of me so readily.”
“Nor shall we try, Señhor,” said the girl, passionately, but with a foreign accent in her words, as she took my hands and pressed them to her lips.
The Friar said something hastily in Spanish, which seemed a rebuke, for she drew back at once, and buried her face in her mantle.
“Donna Maria is my niece, Señhor, and has only just left the convent of the 'Sacred Heart.' She knows nothing of the world, nor what beseems her as a young maiden.”
This the Friar spoke harshly, and with a manner that to me sounded far more in need of an apology than did the young girl's grateful emotion.