quickly and devour their carrion.

CHAPTER XIX.

The scene was like one of Dore's most extravagant designs of abysses and
shadows. The gorge through which swept this silent flight and screaming
chase was not more than two hundred feet wide, while it was at least
fifteen hundred feet deep, with walls that were mainly sheer precipices.

As the fugitives broke into a trot, the pursuers quickened their pace to a
slow canter. No faster; they were too wise to rush within range of
riflemen who could neither be headed off nor flanked; and their hardy
mustangs were nearly at the last gasp with thirst and with the fatigue of
this tremendous journey. Four hundred yards apart the two parties emerged
from the sublime portal of the canon and entered upon the little alluvial
plain.

To the left glittered the river; but the trail did not turn in that
direction; it led straight at the bluff in the elbow of the current. The
mules and horses followed it in a pack, guided by their acute scent toward
the nearest water, a still invisible brooklet which ran at the base of the
butte. Presently, while yet a mile from the stream, they were seized by a
mania. With a loud beastly cry they broke simultaneously into a run,
nostrils distended and quivering, eyes bloodshot and protruding, heads
thrust forward with fierce eagerness, ungovernably mad after water. There
was no checking the frantic stampede which from this moment thundered with
constantly increasing speed across the plain. No order; the stronger
jostled the weaker; loads were flung to the ground and scattered; the
riders could scarcely keep their seats. Spun out over a line of twenty
rods, the cavalcade was the image of senseless rout.

Of course Thurstane was furious at this seemingly fatal dispersion; and he
trumpeted forth angry shouts of "Steady there in front! Close up in the
rear!"

But before long he guessed the truth--water! "They will rally at the
drinking place," he thought. "Forward the mules!" he yelled. "Steady, you
men here! Hold in your horses. Keep in rear of the women. I'll shoot the
man who takes the lead."

But even Spanish bits could do no more than detain the horses a rod or two
behind the beasts of burden, and the whole panting, snorting mob continued
to rush over the loamy level with astonishing swiftness.

Meanwhile the leading Apaches, not now more than fifty in number, were
swept along by the same whirlwind of brute instinct. They diverged a
litt