The Rio Grande, the great dividing-line between Mexico and the United States, was swelling rapidly into a flood under recent rains, which had sent torrents dashing from the mountain lands toward the Gulf.
A carriage, drawn by two horses, had halted upon the banks at the ford, the Mexican driver on the box seeming afraid to venture into the turbid stream.
Within the vehicle were two persons, one in the garb of a nun of the Church of Rome, the other a young and beautiful girl of sixteen, with dark hair and glorious eyes that revealed her Spanish blood.
“Well, Pedro, why do you halt here?” asked the nun of the driver.
“It is dangerous to cross, Sister Felicite,” was the answer.
“And the river is rising?”
“It is, sister.”
“You know the ford, Pedro?”
“Perfectly, sister.”
“How deep will the waters come?”