The Panther called a halt and they listened.

They heard no sound but the faint moaning of the wind among the dips and swells, and the long lone howl of a lonesome coyote.
"We've slipped through 'em! By the great horn spoon, we've slipped through 'em!" said the Panther exultantly.

"Now, boys, we'll take to the water here to throw 'em off our track, when they try to follow it in the mornin'." The creek was now about three feet in depth and flowing slowly like most streams in that region, but over a bed of hard sand, where the trace of a footstep would quickly vanish.
"The water is likely to be cold," said the Panther, "an' if any fellow is afraid of it he can stay behind and consort with the Mexicans who don't care much for water." "Lead on, Macduff," said Obed, "and there's nobody who will cry 'hold, enough.'" The Panther waded directly into the middle of the stream, and all the others followed.

The horses, splashing the water, made some noise, but they were not so careful in that particular now since they had put a mile between themselves and the grove.

In fact, the Panther urged them to greater speed, careless of the sounds, and they kept in the water for a full two miles further.