torm, has now been succeeded by the more
natural darkness of night, the trackers, for this day, cannot proceed
further, were they ever so eager. Besides, there is another bar to
their continuing; one still more directly obstructive, even forbidding
their exit from the cave. This, the _arroyo_, which now in full flood
fills the ravine up to the cliff's base, there leaving no path for
either man or horse. That by which they approached is covered beyond
fording depth, with a current so swift as to sweep the strongest animal
from its feet, even were it an elephant. And to attempt reaching the
opposite side by swimming, would only result in their getting carried
down to be drowned to a certainty, or have the life crushed out of them
on the rocks below.

Gaspar knowing all this, does not dream of making any such rash
experiment. On the contrary, as he has signified, he designs them to
remain all night in the cavern. Indeed, there is no alternative, as he
observes, explaining how egress is forbidden, and assuring them that
they are, in point of fact, as much prisoners as though the doors of a
jail were shut and locked upon them.

Their imprisonment, however, need not last till the morning; so far as
the flood is concerned. And this he also makes known to them, himself
aware that the waters in the _arroyo_, will subside as rapidly as they
had risen. It is one of those short rivulets, whose floods are over
almost as soon as the rain which causes them. Looking out again near
the hour of midnight, they see his prediction verified. The late
swollen and fast-rushing stream has become reduced to nearly its normal
dimensions, and runs past in gentle ripple, while the moon shining full
upon it, shows not a flake of foam.

They could even now pass out of the cave, and on up the cliff where they
came down, if they desired to do so. More, they might with such a clear
moon, return to the river's bank and continue on along the trail they
had forsaken. A trail so plain as it, could be followed in a light far
more faint; at least, so think they. So believing, Cypriano, as ever
impatient to get on, is greatly inclined to this course, and chafes at
the irksomeness of delay. But Gaspar objects, giving his reasons.

"If we were to go on now," he says, "it wouldn't better us a bit. All
we'd gain by it would be the league or so from this to the river. Once
there, and attempting to travel up its bank, we'd find scores of little
c