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Down the beaten trail the animals had made to the river the girl hurried, her eyes

penetrating the darkness ahead and to either hand for the looming bulks that

would be the horses she sought, and among which she might hope to discover the

gentle little Brazos.

The nearer she came to the river the lower dropped her spirits, for as yet no sign

of the animals was to be seen. To have attempted to place a hackamore upon any

of the wild creatures in the corral would have been the height of foolishness--only

a well-sped riata in the hands of a strong man could have captured one of these.

Closer and closer to the fringe of willows along the river she came, until, at their

very edge, there broke upon her already taut nerves the hideous and uncanny

scream of a wildcat. The girl stopped short in her tracks. She felt the chill of fear

creep through her skin, and a twitching at the roots of her hair evidenced to her

the extremity of her terror. Should she turn back? The horses might be between

her and the river, but judgment told her that they had crossed. Should she brave

the nervous fright of a passage through that dark, forbidding labyrinth of gloom

when she knew that she should not find the horses within reach beyond?

She turned to retrace her steps. She must find another way!

But was there another way? And "Tomorrow they will shoot him!" She shuddered,

bit her lower lip in an effort to command her courage, and then, wheeling,

plunged into the thicket.

Again the cat screamed--close by--but the girl never hesitated in her advance,

and a few moments later she broke through the willows a dozen paces from the

river bank. Her eyes strained through the night; but no horses were to be seen.

The trail, cut by the hoofs of many animals, ran deep and straight down into the

swirling water. Upon the opposite side Brazos must be feeding or resting, just

beyond reach.

Barbara dug her nails into her palms in the bitterness of her disappointment. She

followed down to the very edge of the water. It was black and forbidding. Even in

the daytime she would not have been confident of following the ford--by night it

would be madness to attempt it.

She choked down a sob. Her shoulders drooped. Her head bent forward. She was

the picture of disappointment and despair.

What can I do?" she moaned. "Tomorrow they will shoot him!"

The thought seemed to electrify her.

264

The Mucker