"If I knew where the Apache village was," said the Captain, "I'd go near enough to see if we could pick up some ponies. But we won't waste any time looking for it."
The brook was a true guide. In due time it led the miners to the place where it poured its little contribution into the larger stream, and that looked wider and gloomier by night than by day.
"No ford right here, boys. The water runs too still and quiet. We must follow it down."
Every pair of eyes among them was now busy peering into the darkness as they rode along the bank.
If they could but find a ford!
They thought they found one once, and a tall horseman wheeled his horse down the bank, and into the placid water.
"Careful now. Feel your way a foot at a time," shouted Skinner.
"Tain't three feet deep yet, and it's a good bottom."
It did not seem to get any deeper until he was half-way across and the rest were getting ready to follow him, when his horse seemed to stumble and plunge forward.
There was a splash and a smothered cry, and that was all. Days afterward an Apache hunter found a stray horse, all saddled and bridled, feeding on the bank near the spot where he had swum ashore, but nobody ever saw any more of his rider. He had too many pounds of stolen gold about him, heavier than lead, and it had carried him to the bottom instantly.