All went well until we gained the center of the stream, and then a loose stone turned under the horse’s hoof, or it sank into a deeper hollow, for there was a plunge and a flounder, and, jerked sideways by the bridle, I went down headforemost into the stream. This was a common enough accident, but the bridle slipped from my fingers, and when some seconds later I stood erect, gasping, with the torrent racing past me, the horse was swimming down-stream a dozen yards away, while Johnston struggled in that direction to intercept it.
“Let it go!” I roared. “Water’s deepening; you’ll be sucked out into the main river,” and caught the answer, “All our provisions there!” after which there was a confused shouting, which ended in the warning, “For the Lord’s sake, Johnston, look out for yourself!”
I could see that our best chance of rendering assistance would be to cross and try to overtake them from the further bank, and a few seconds later I was clattering over the shingle with the prospector close behind me. But we were already too late. When, waist-deep, I floundered down a shingle spit, the half-submerged beast, handicapped by its burden, swept past out of reach, and I caught a momentary glimpse of a wet white face and a man’s uplifted arm before a tumbling ridge splashed up and hid them.
“Couldn’t never overtake them, but it’s running slacker in the river,” the prospector said.
We smashed through a willow thicket which covered a 262 little promontory, and then, staring wide-eyed under the branches, I saw an indistinct object lurch unevenly into the froth of a rapid, and so pass the next instant out of sight. Whether it was man or horse no one could say.
“He’s gone,” said the grizzled prospector. “Many another has gone the same way. Find them! Of course, we’ll search, but I guess it’s hopeless. Don’t think your partner was great on swimming, and he was loaded heavy. Come on, daylight’s going.”
For a moment I felt limp and abject, then in savage fury I broke through barberry branches and thorny brakes, fell into the river, and blundered down a shoaler portion of its channel, until I brought up breathless on the verge of a deep boiling pool, while even as I stared across it the last of the day went out.
“It sounds hard,” said the prospector, “but you can’t do nothin’. No man could make his way through this bush in the dark, and it wouldn’t be any good. Your partner never got so far. We can only say we’re sorry, and strike back for camp.”
He was right, though I think I cursed him for cowardice then. We struggled on through a horrible chaos of tangled forest, but each time when, peering out between the dark fir branches, I cried aloud, the blackness returned no answer save the boom of angry water. So, bruised, wet, and bleeding, I struggled back toward the fatal creek, and found that my lips would not frame words to answer when Harry said:
“It was horrible, Ralph. I’d give all our hopes and prospects to have the poor fellow safe again. But there’s no help for it, and somehow I fancy it was a release. You remember how he looked when he said that this was his last march?”