“You’ll see in a second. We should be near the place now.”
The conversation thus carried on was between two individuals riding side by side, and going at a gallop of nearly a mile to the minute!
As the guide had predicted, they soon came within sight of the obstruction; which proved to be an arroyo—a yawning fissure in the plain full fifteen feet in width, as many in depth, and trending on each side to the verge of vision.
To turn aside, either to the right or left, would be to give the pursuers the advantage of the diagonal; which the fugitives could no longer afford.
The chasm must be crossed, or the stallions would overtake them.
It could only be crossed by a leap—fifteen feet at the least. Maurice knew that his own horse could go over it—he had done it before. But the mare?
“Do you think she can do it?” he eagerly asked, as, in slackened pace, they approached the edge of the barranca.
“I am sure she can,” was the confident reply.
“But are you sure you can sit her over it?”
“Ha! ha! ha!” scornfully laughed the Creole. “What a question for an Irishman to ask! I’m sure, sir, one of your own countrywomen would be offended at your speech. Even I, a native of swampy Louisiana, don’t regard it as at all gallant. Sit her over it! Sit her anywhere she can carry me.”