"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. The farther off from England the nearer 'tis to France; Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. Will you--won't you----" "'No, I won't! I told you once!'" snapped the beloved snail. "Here's the little eohippus horse then." As Charley took it Jeff wrung his hand. "By George, I've got to change my notion of Arcadia people. If there's many like you and Griffith, Arcadia's going to crowd the map!... Well--so long!" "It looks awful wide, Jeff!" "Oh, I'll be all right--swim it myself if the horse plays out--and if I don't have no cramps, as I might, of course, after this ride. Well--here goes nothin'! Take care of the little horse. I hope he brings you good luck!" "Well--so long, then!" Bransford rode into the muddy waters. They came to the horse's breast, his neck; he plunged in, sank, rose, and was borne away down the swift current, breasting the flood stoutly--and so went quartering across to the farther bank. It took a long time. It was quite light when the horse found footing on a sandbar half a mile below, rested, and splashed whitely through the shallows to the bank. Gibson swung his sombrero. Jeff waved his hand, rode to the fringing bushes, and was gone. CHAPTER XVI THE LAND OF AFTERNOON "Dreaming once more love's old sad dream divine." Los Banos de Santa Eulalia Del Norte, otherwise known as Mud Springs, is a Mexican hamlet with one street of about the same length. Los Banos and Co. lies in a loop of the Rio Grande, half of a long day from El Paso, in mere miles; otherwise a contemporary of Damascus and Arpad. Thither, mindful of the hot springs which supply the preliminaries of the name, Mr. Bransford made his way: mindful too, of sturdy old Don Francisco, a friend twice bound by ancient service given and returned. He climbed the slow long ridges to the high _mesa_: for the river bent here in a long ox-bow, where a bold promontory shouldered far out to bar the way: weary miles were to be saved by crossing the neck of this ox-bow, and the tough horse tired and lagged. The slow sun rose as he reached the Rim. It showed the wide expanse of desert behind him, flooded with trembling light; eastward, beyond the river, the buttressed and fantastic peaks of Fray Cristobal; their jutting shadows streaming into the gulf beyond, athwart the silvery ribbon of gleaming water, twining in mazy loops across the valley floor: it showed the black Rim at his feet, a frowning level wall of lava cliff, where the plain broke abruptly into the chasm beneath; the iron desolation of the steep sides, boulder-strewn, savage and forbidding: "_A land of old up-heaven from the abyss._"