Tad spoke to his horse. The animal whinnied its appreciation, and Tad patted it with a feeble hand. The boy was still too weak to do more than lie back, breathing hard, and exerting every bit of will power that he possessed to pull himself together.
"This won't do. I'll surely shake to pieces if I remain here," he muttered.
With a great effort he pulled himself up and released himself from the rope.
"Hello!" called Tad with all his strength.
There was no response.
"They've gone! I hope they aren't drowned, but I am sure something terrible has happened to them. How I wish it were light so that I could see what I am about."
Taking the bridle rein in one hand, Tad began feeling about in the darkness. He learned that the pony had dragged him up to a narrow, sandy strip of land at the base of the wall. The ground was wet, indicating that the water had but recently receded from it. This proved to the boy that the crest of the flood had passed and that the water was rapidly going down.
"There's little doubt that it was the crest that struck us. But the question is, what hit me? I don't suppose it would help if that question were answered. The real question is, what has become of my companions?" he muttered.
There was nothing to be done just yet, though Tad decided to try the creek very soon. This he did after half an hour's waiting. By that time his pony had recovered itself sufficiently to warrant Butler in climbing to the wet, slippery saddle. How cold it did feel underneath him, but the heat of his body soon took away this unpleasant sensation.
Tad boldly forced the pony into the creek. To the boy's relief the water barely touched the stirrups.