But his will made the effort, and recalling his mission he struggled on
again. He had the river on his right, and it now became an unfailing
guide. It had probably been raining much earlier in the mountains along
the headwaters and the flood was already pouring down. The river swished
high against its banks and once or twice, when he caught dim glimpses of
it through the trees, he saw a yellow torrent bearing much brushwood upon
its bosom.
He had very little idea of his progress. It was impossible to judge of
pace under such circumstances. The army might be ten miles further on
or it might be only two. Then he found himself sliding down a muddy and
slippery bank. He grasped at weeds and bushes, but they slipped through
his hands. Then he shot into a creek, swollen by the flood, and went
over his head.
He came up, gasping, struck out and reached the further shore. Here he
found bushes more friendly than the others and pulled himself upon the
bank. But he had lost everything. His belt had broken in his struggles,
and pistols, small sword and ammunition were gone.
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