“Where is Señor John?” he called to the girl. “_Oh!_”--it was a piercing cry. “Isn’t he with _you_?” The spotted mustang was pushing through water that foamed about his shoulders. Close to the bank, she reined him and bent over in her saddle as if overcome. “No! no!” Father José implored. She lifted her head then--he swung his lantern forward--and saw the awful stiffness of her white face, the wild terror of her eyes. All at once he understood what he had not guessed before. “Oh, poor little woman!” he said compassionately. “When did he start home?” “Eight.” “Oh, he went down!” Now, she half-turned the mustang, and rode against the current. All the while, she looked about her, first on one hand then on the other, and uttered little, piteous, despairing calls. “Be careful!” warned the father. “You are above the ford.” She reined. “Where is the cross? He must have started in at the cross. John! John!” Father José hunted about. “I cannot find it,” he answered. “Perhaps it has been swept away.” Then, hurrying forward, “No; here it is--but how far up. This is not the ford!” “Father! Someone has changed the cross!” Suddenly, the mustang halted as if in fear. She strove to urge him on, striking at his flanks with a quirt. “Come a little farther,” called Father José. “My horse is _sinking_!” That moment, with a shudder, then a quick backward plunge that struck up a shower of spray, the mustang threw himself toward the bank and floundered out. The girl was panting and crouching on her saddle again. “The crossing’s bad!” she wept. “He rode right into it. Oh, Father José!” The father did not answer. He had waded out a few steps. And now as he stood in the water, the current was catching at the bottom of his gown and whirling it. To and fro he swept the lantern. All at once the girl sat up and faced riverward. “What’s that?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear it? And, look! There--down there, away out!” The light had grown. She pointed below them to the middle of the flood. It had divided at one point and was running on either side of a sand-bar which showed above the surface of the water. At the near edge of the bar lay something black--something that moved a little. Almost before the father knew where she pointed, the spotted mustang was fighting the current once more, now making his way through water that only washed above the stirrups, now falling suddenly into deep channels that he swam. All the while she encouraged him, or shouted ahead, or back to Father José. The father had put down his lantern. Now he ran to the cross, pried it out of the sand and started along the bank with it, stopped at a point a little above where he judged she could come out, for the cross was heavy and the current could help him to carry it.