between the river and rock.

To wade it would be impossible; to attempt swimming it destruction. The
staunchest steed could not stem its surges. Even the huge river-horse
of Africa would be swept off his feet and tossed to the surface like one
of its froth-flakes.

Arriving on its edge, Hamersley sees this at a glance. As he checks up
his horse, the exclamation that leaps from his lips more resembles the
anguished cry of a man struggling in the torrent than one seated safely
in a saddle on its bank.

After it, he gives utterance to two words in sad despairing tone, twice
repeated,--

"Too late--too late!"

Again repeated by Walt Wilder, and twenty times again by a score of the
Rangers who have ridden up, and reined their horses crowdingly behind.

There is no response save echo from the rocks, scarce audible through
the hoarse sough of the swollen surging stream, that rolls relentlessly
by, seeming to say, as in scorn, "Ford me! swim across me if you can!"

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

A SHORT SHRIFT.

Difficult--indeed, impossible--for pen to describe the scene consequent
upon the arrival of the Rangers by the banks of the swollen stream, and
finding it unfordable.

Imagine a man who has secured passage by a ship bound for some far-off
foreign land, and delayed by some trifling affair, comes upon the pier
to see the hawser cast off, the plank drawn ashore, the sails spread,
himself left hopelessly behind!

His chagrin might be equal to that felt by the Texans, but slight
compared with what harrows the hearts of Hamersley and Walt Wilder. To
symbolise theirs, it must be a man missing his ship homeward bound, with
sweetheart, wife, child awaiting him at the end of the voyage, and in a
port from which vessels take departure but "few and far between."

These two, better than any of the Texans, understand the obstruction
that has arisen, in the same proportion as they are aggrieved by it.
Too well do they comprehend its fatal import. Not hours, but whole
days, may elapse before the flood subsides, the stream can be forded,
the ravine ascended, and the pursuit continued.

Hours--days! A single day--an hour--may seal the fate of those dear to
them. The hearts of both are sad, their bosoms racked with anguish, as
they sit in their saddles with eyes bent on the turbid stream, which
cruelly forbids fording it.

In different degree and from a different cause the Texans also suffer.
Some only disappointment, b