"I can, then. It's half a sort of lake. The river comes out of it. Lower down it'll run faster, and we'll find some shallow place."
"May run against Apaches."
"Got to take our chances."
There was no help for it, but every pair of eyes among them was as busy as the dim light would let it be, while 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.