They did not rise anywhere more than three or four
feet. But the water increased in depth and the margin of sand was
narrower. The Panther called a halt and they listened. They heard no
sound but the faint moaning of the wind among the dips and swells, and
the long lone howl of a lonesome coyote.
"We've slipped through 'em! By the great horn spoon, we've slipped
through 'em!" said the Panther exultantly. "Now, boys, we'll take to the
water here to throw 'em off our track, when they try to follow it in the
mornin'."
The creek was now about three feet in depth and flowing slowly like most
streams in that region, but over a bed of hard sand, where the trace of
a footstep would quickly vanish.
"The water is likely to be cold," said the Panther, "an' if any fellow
is afraid of it he can stay behind and consort with the Mexicans who
don't care much for water."
"Lead on, Macduff," said Obed, "and there's nobody who will cry 'hold,
enough.'"
The Panther waded directly into the middle of the stream, and all the
others followed. The horses, splashing the water, made some noise, but
they were not so careful in that particular now since they had put a
mile between themselves and the grove.
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