"Wot! Arfter sech a plunge?" returned the first speaker, sarcastically. "Wall, hardly, ter my reckonin'."
They shifted their positions on the brink of the opening, but try their best, could see nothing more of the young man or the mare.
It was now growing darker rapidly, and fifteen minutes later, satisfied that Allen had really taken a fall to his death, they continued on their way.
And poor Allen?
Down, down, down sank the mare and her hapless rider, until the very bottom of the river was struck.
The swiftly flowing tide caught both in its grasp, tumbled them over and over and sent them spinning onward. Allen's grasp on the saddle relaxed, and as it did so the young man lost consciousness.
How long he remained in this state Allen never knew. When he came to he was lying among brush, partly in the water and partly out.
He attempted to sit up and in doing so, slipped back beyond his depth. But the instinct of self-preservation still remained with him, and he made a frantic clutch at the brush and succeeded in pulling himself high and dry upon a grassy bank.
Here he lay for several minutes exhausted. He could not think, for his head felt as if it was swimming around in a balloon.
At last he began to come to himself and after a bit sat up to gaze about him. But all was dark and he could see little or nothing.