was the thing he meant
to do? A thousand thoughts assailed him in answer and none were clear.
A chill passed over him. Suddenly he felt that the cold stole up from
his feet. They were both in the water. He pulled them out and, bending
down, watched the dim, dark line of water. It moved up and up, inch by
inch, swiftly. The river was on the rise!

Bostil leaped up. He seemed possessed of devils. A rippling hot gash of
blood fired his every vein and tremor after tremor shook him.

"By G---d! I had it right--she's risin'!" he exclaimed, hoarsely.

He stared in fascinated certainty at the river. All about it and
pertaining to it had changed. The murmur and moan changed to a low,
sullen roar. The music was gone. The current chafed at its rock-bound
confines. Here was an uneasy, tormented, driven river! The light from
the stars shone on dark, glancing, restless waters, uneven and strange.
And while Bostil watched, whether it was a short time or long, the
remorseless, destructive nature of the river showed itself.

Bostil began to pace the sands. He thought of those beautiful
race-horses across the river.

"It's not too late!" he muttered. "I can get the boat over an'
back--yet!"

He knew that on the morrow the Colorado in flood would bar those
horses, imprison them in a barren canyon, shut them in to starve.

"It'd be hellish! ... Bostil, you can't do it. You ain't thet kind of a
man.... Bostil poison a water-hole where hosses loved to drink, or burn
over grass! ... What would Lucy think of you? ... No, Bostil, you've
let spite rule bad. Hurry now and save them hosses!"

He strode down to the boat. It swung clear now, and there was water
between it and the shore. Bostil laid hold of the cables. As he did so
he thought of Creech and a blackness enfolded him. He forgot Creech's
horses. Something gripped him, burned him--some hard and bitter feeling
which he thought was hate of Creech. Again the wave of fire ran over
him, and his huge hands strained on the cables. The fiend of that
fiendish river had entered his soul. He meant ruin to a man. He meant
more than ruin. He meant to destroy what his enemy, his rival loved.
The darkness all about him, the gloom and sinister shadow of the
canyon, the sullen increasing roar of the' river--these lent their
influence to the deed, encouraged him, drove him onward, fought and
strangled the resistance in his heart. As he brooded all the motives
for the deed grew like that remorsele