the wind: it
blew _from_ the river, and _towards_ the camp; and should I bring my
horse opposite the line of the mustangs, I would then be directly to
windward of them, and in danger from their keen nostrils. They would be
almost certain to take up the scent of my steed, and utter their warning
snorts. The breeze was light, but so much the worse. There was
sufficient to carry the smell, and not enough to drown the plunging
noise necessarily made by my horse moving through the water, with the
occasional hollow pounding of his hoofs upon the rocks at the bottom.

If I raised my head over the bank, there was the danger of being seen;
if I advanced, the prospect was one of equal peril of being scented.

For some moments I stood hesitating--uncertain as to whether I should
leave my horse, or lead him a little farther. I heard noises from the
camp, but they were not distinct enough to guide me.

I looked back down the river, in the hope of being able to calculate the
distance I had come, and by that means decide where I was; but my
observation furnished no data by which I could determine my position.
With my eyes almost on a level with the surface of the water, I could
not judge satisfactorily of distance.

I turned my face up-stream again, and scrutinised the parapet line of
the bank.

Just then I saw an object over its edge that answered well to guide me:
it was the croup and hip-bones of a horse--one of the mustangs staked
near the bank. I saw neither the head nor shoulders of the animal; its
hind-quarters were towards the stream; its head was to the grass--it was
browsing.

The sight gratified me. The mustang was full two hundred yards above
the point I had reached. I knew that its position marked the outer line
of the encampment. I was in the very place where I wanted to be--about
two hundred yards from the lines. Just at that distance I desired to
leave my horse.

I had taken the precaution to bring with me my picket-pin--one of the
essentials of the prairie traveller. It was the work of a moment to
delve it into the bank. I needed not to drive it with violence: my
well-trained steed never broke fastening, however slight. With him the
stake was only required as a sign that he was not free to wander.

In a moment, then, he was staked; and with a "whisper" I parted from
him, and kept on up-stream.

I had not waded a dozen yards farther, when I perceived a break in the
line of the bank. It was a lit