In an instant it was as though they were paralysed by fear--for their bays turned to fearful howlings.

One or two of those that were nearest to the island seemed to lose their footing and be swept away by the stream.

The rest struggled back to the bank, and fled wildly like whipped curs.
Then the dark, commanding figure, which in his dream Leo took to be the guardian Spirit of the Mountain, vanished.

That it left no footprints behind it I can vouch, for in the morning we looked to see.
When, awakened by the sharp pangs in my arm, I opened my eyes again, the dawn was breaking.

A thin mist hung over the river and the island, and through it I could see Leo sleeping heavily at my side and the shape of the black horse, which had risen and was grazing close at hand.