It was as if the heavens were exploding in a crescendo of deafening sound. A million war drums could not have equalled the noise which filled the ears of the horse and rider as they approached. The waterfall towered fifty feet above the floor of the valley of dense undergrowth and trees. The moonlight gave the never-ending white-water vapour a strange glow which drew the grey mare towards it like a moth to a naked flame.
The forested valley had given sanctuary to the injured horseman as his faithful mount had negotiated its entire length since fleeing the guns of Ben Baker’s henchmen. Colorado had grown weaker and weaker with every mile that his grey mare had travelled.
The blood-soaked rider had almost lost his battle with consciousness the closer he got to the waterfall. Only the cool forest air which was filled with a million sounds and scents had managed to keep the injured Colorado Kid in his saddle.
He recognized them from his youth, when he had lived in a different forest. That had been another time and place. Another world which he knew he would never find again.
The tall grey mare had walked through the ice-cold river for more than two hours. But her master had barely noticed the course they had taken. It was all he could do to remain atop the alert horse. Every ounce of his quickly dwindling strength was required to maintain his balance. Yet it was a battle he was losing.
He had started to sway as the mare found deeper crystal-clear water to wade through. At last the large hands released their grip on the reins as the Kid’s head filled with a strange fog he could neither understand or fight.
Colorado rolled helplessly to his side and then toppled like a felled tree from the high saddle into the fast-flowing water.
The sound of the splash was muffled by the pounding of the waterfall.
The ice-cold water was like a stick of dynamite to the senses of the Kid. Suddenly his mind was blasted wide awake to the realization that he was helpless. His massive frame was being washed down river like an autumn leaf.
The Kid tried to push himself out of the cold water which he knew would soon drown him, yet there seemed to be little strength left in his huge physique. He opened his blue eyes and stared up through the water at the shimmering image of the moon far above him in the heavens as it briefly managed to penetrate the dense tree-canopy.
Then even that was gone.
Over and over the helpless Kid rolled beneath the strong current. Colorado desperately tried to grab hold of something to aid his escape from the watery grave, but there was nothing his large fingers could find to assist him.
No floating tree-roots. Nothing except the fast-flowing water which continually came over the top of the falls and swept relentlessly between the river-banks.
The harder he fought, the more Colorado felt himself being washed further downstream. For the first time, the Kid realized that his immense strength had deserted him.
He was helpless to do anything except stare through the water as he rolled over and over beneath its surface. He could feel the last of his breath escaping his lungs and watched the bubbles swirl all around him.
Was this the end?
Then, abruptly, something stopped him. Had he hit a submerged log or the lodge of a family of beavers? Colorado tried to think but the ice-cold water seemed to numb his every thought.
Then he felt hands gripping his buckskin shirt-collar and pulling him toward the embankment. As his head came out from beneath the river water he gasped and coughed.
Colorado sucked in the precious air like a starving man given a meal for the first time in weeks. He had never realized how good it tasted before.
He could feel that he was being dragged up on to the dry river-bank by small but powerful hands. The Kid felt his shoulders being dropped on to the grass as the hands released their grip. Colorado tried to focus his eyes but the moon could not penetrate the dense foliage of the tree branches far above him.
Only the water that flowed over the falls, a few hundred yards away, seemed to be bathed in the eerie moonlight. There was a stark blackness which overwhelmed everything else in the forest.
He was exhausted by the loss of blood and his futile fight with the far stronger river-current. He continued to breathe in the sweet-tasting air as he listened to the feet moving around him. The Kid inhaled deeply and summoned up his remaining strength.
‘Thanks. W … who are you?’ he spluttered.
There was no reply. He felt two knees touch his arm as his saviour knelt down beside him and started to inspect his wounded arm.
A sound drew his attention. The Colorado Kid watched the silhouette of his grey mare trot up to within a few yards of where he rested. He turned his head back to the figure beside him and squinted hard at the face of the person who was cutting through his sleeve with a razor-sharp Bowie knife.
Eventually, Colorado began to make out the face above his own. He gasped again. This time it was due to utter surprise.
She was beautiful.