"Gosh! that hurts me clean through." Ben Evans began to uncoil his saddle rope.
The Mexican felt the horse was swimming lower, and realized that it could not keep up much longer with his weight upon its back, so he grasped its mane and slipped from the saddle.
"Look at him—he don't know straight up! Slidin' off on the upper side! That there Ignacio's a gone goslin'"
Joe Brindell seemed to have stated facts, since, as the horse was swimming toward shore, the current swept Bojarques underneath him. They both went under, rose, and sank again, then the sand filled the Mexican's clothes, and he went down to rise no more. The horse righted itself, but its nostrils were barely above water.
"Be careful, Ben"
But the cowboy was already out of hearing, riding hard to reach a bend where the current came close to the bank. There, with the noose swinging lightly to and fro, he waited.
If the horse recovered sufficiently to swim a little higher there was a chance. Ben waited
