h more force, and
were probably carried away by the torrent. Nor can we hope for a
better fate. Wearied by our ride, weakened by the fever and sufferings
of the preceding night, we are in no condition to strive much longer
with the furious elements. For one step that we gain, we lose two. The
waters rise; already they are nearly up to our armpits. It is in vain
to resist any longer. Our fate is sealed.

"Rowley, all is over--let us die like men. God have mercy on our
souls!"

Rowley was a few paces higher up the barranca. He made me no answer,
but looked at me with a calm, cold, and yet somewhat regretful smile
upon his countenance. Then all at once he ceased the efforts he was
making to resist the stream and gain the bank, folded his arms on his
breast and gave a look up and around him as though to bid farewell to
the world he was about to leave. The current was sweeping him rapidly
down towards me, when suddenly a wild hurra burst from his lips, and
he recommenced his struggles against the waters, striving violently to
retain a footing on the slippery, uneven bed of the stream.

"_Tenga! Tenga!_" screamed a dozen voices, that seemed to proceed from
spirits of the air; and at the same moment something whistled about my
ears and struck me a smart blow across the face. With the instinct of
a drowning man, I clutched the _lasso_ that had been thrown to me.
Rowley was at my elbow and seized it also. It was immediately drawn
tight, and by its aid we gained the bank, and began ascending the side
of the barranca, composed of rugged, declivitous rocks, affording but
scanty foot-hold. God grant the lasso may prove tough! The strain on
it is fearful. Rowley is a good fifteen stone, and I am no feather;
and in some parts of our perilous ascent the rocks are almost as
perpendicular and smooth as a wall of masonry, and we are obliged to
cling with our whole weight to the lasso, which seems to stretch, and
crack, and grow visibly thinner. Nothing but a strip of twisted
cow-hide between us and a frightful agonizing death on the sharp rocks
and in the foaming waters below. But the lasso holds good, and now the
chief peril is past: we get some sort of footing--a point of rock, or
a tree-root to clutch at. Another strain up this rugged slope of
granite, another pull at the lasso; a leap, a last violent effort,
and--_Viva_!--we are seized under the arms, dragged up, held upon our
feet for a moment, and then--we sink exhausted to the g