But the spectacle fascinated him, and he looked.

He did not think of Stevens and his loss as the first of the herd plunged in among the rocks.

He stood with white face and clenched hands, leaning over the water boiling at his feet, cursing softly in his helplessness.

To him came the last terrible cries of the perishing animals.
He saw head after head go under.

Out of the white spume of a great rock against which the flood split itself with the force of an avalanche he saw one horse pitched bodily, as if thrown from a huge catapault.