There had been a cloud-burst.
A heavy boulder whirling in the flood was flung against Morando's horse. As it fell caballeros close by grasped bridle-rein and stirrup-strap and drew the animal to its feet. Panic-stricken it dashed wildly forward.
The lightning ceased. The dense blackness but increased the confusion.
The carretas floundered in the water. Finally, all save one fought their way to higher ground. A projecting tree-limb had struck the dueña's postilion. His horse slipped beneath him and turned with the turbulent current. Man, horses, carreta, and occupants were washed down the declivity.
The caballeros, unknowing, struggled on.
The dueña's horses soon found footing on the hillside, and taking the bits in their teeth ran headlong down grade into the deep cañon.
When Carmelita recovered consciousness she was lying in a cave, on some bear skins, near a glowing fire of logs. She could hear horses stamping and eating. Her dueña, still unconscious, was on another pile of skins.
A man came from the darkness and stood by her. He was dressed in tanned-skin shirt and trousers, and in his hand he held a sombrero. The mustached face was burned brown in the sun.
He noticed that Carmelita had opened her eyes. "Neither of you is seriously injured. I am physician enough to determine that. Rest here quietly till morning, and doubtless your friends will come. I'll have some one prepare you a hot drink now." This he spoke in Spanish. Then in English, as he turned away: "Queerest product of a spring freshet I ever saw!"
He chuckled at his own conceit.