Now, several hours later, he could hear the current, more angry than before, whirling its mass of foam and _débris_ against the banks. As they reached the place where the bridge ought to have been not a ray of starlight showed Stone it was no longer there. But involuntarily, he refrained from guiding or suggesting to the horse any course of action. The reins lay loose even when Morgan paused at the brink of the torrent. Leaning forward, Stone patted the horse’s neck gently, and said in a soothing voice: “Steady, Boy, steady!” Morgan responded. He could see with his keen eyes, the white, turbid water, below the very place where the bridge had been--one stringer alone of the structure remained, and this was scarce above the violent current! The rushing, churning water swirled against the banks impetuously. Cautiously, the horse tried the wide beam with one foot. Feeling it secure, he tried another; in the inky darkness, he pushed his feet along gently, lest he step on an upstanding nail. Steadily, firmly, without wavering, without--above all--interference from his rider, he went on over the spinning foam on his narrow foot-bridge. At last he put his foot on solid ground and, with a slight, throaty sound of relief, he cantered briskly off toward home. As they neared the house he whinneyed, as was his custom, and Mistress Stone threw open the door and stood silhouetted against the radiance from within. The glow of firelight penetrated the darkness, and from a guttering candle, held high above her head, a tiny beam of welcome went out to her good man. “Oh, Samuel,” she cried, right joyfully, “’tis a great comfort to hear your voice again! By what road came you back?” “By Beaver Creek Road, wife,” he made answer. “But, look you, the bridge is gone--how crossed you the creek?” “By the bridge, all the same--’twas not gone five minutes ago.” “But, indeed, ’tis washed away a long time since,” his wife cried, in amazement, “for James Kelsey came by these two hours agone and told me he had but just crossed in time. Scarce had he landed on this side when there was a great crashing and grinding of timbers and the whole thing was swept away before his very eyes! He saw by a flash of lightning--all went but one stringer which was wedged against the rocks at either end!” And, marvelling together, they fed the “pony” as befitted a hero, though Morgan looked upon it as but an incident in the day’s work and went about his delicious supper with placid forgetfulness of all else. CHAPTER XVIII. UNDER CAPTAIN DULANEY. Then one day the sun rose clear and bright, the waters sank and the mountains showed clean-cut against the fleckless sky--but no bees buzzed, no sweet odors filled the air, no wild flowers carpeted the woods, no butterflies fluttered, no birds sang. Vermont tasted that year the bitter cup of desolation.