They wheeled and splashed back, and Dolly urged the horses to a hard trot. But the heavy going was telling on them, and they were beginning to flag. They had done a long drive from the Ridge that morning, and would have been easily fit for an ordinary drive back, but the wading through mud and water, and dragging the buggy, with its wheels sinking deep in the mud, was too much for them, and Dolly’s heart sank as he noticed their hanging heads and labouring sides. He pulled them up and dropped the reins. “We’ll give ’em a five-minute spell,” he said; “they’ll be gettin’ tucked up if we don’t. Then we’ll have another whack at Crossin’ the Rubicon.” He jumped down and went to the horses’ heads, and patted and talked to them, and pulled their ears; and the brutes rubbed their heads on his chest, and one of them playfully bit at his hand.
“They’re good-oh,” he said, climbing back into the buggy, “chock full o’ ginger yet. Now then, my beauties, come up,” and he headed them into the water again.
They went deeper and deeper, until Ess had to scramble up on the seat again. Dolly sat still—couldn’t get wetter, he said laughing, if he got out and swam. When the water was up almost over the horses’ backs and the buggy was nearly afloat, he turned to Ess. “We’ll have to whale ’em through this time,” he said. “Maybe they’ll have to swim for it. If they do, I’m goin’ to slip off behind and hang to the cart. You take the reins, but leave ’em hanging slack. They’ll steer themselves all right. Sit in the middle, and don’t get scared.”
Suddenly the horses plunged and sank, struggled for their footing, plunged again, and struck out swimming. In a flash Dolly had slid over the back of the buggy, and was hanging on and swimming. “This is ripping,” he called to Ess. “First bath I’ve had for months, and the water’s warm as toast. Sit still, Miss Ess. They’re doing fine.”
Ess clung to the buggy seat in silence. The rain had been so good and meant so much to them all. She had looked on it as a friend coming to their help, but it began to frighten her now. The carcase of a drowned sheep came swirling down on them and struck the buggy with a bump, making it rock and sway. She half screamed, and caught it back at the sound of Dolly’s voice. “Steady, Miss Ess, steady. Nothing to be scared of. Sit tight—eyes in the boat.”
They scrambled out at last, and the horses dragged heavily to firm ground, and halted, and stood with the water streaming off them, and their legs trembling under them. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still banked thick and heavy with black clouds. It was beginning to darken, too, and Dolly was afraid to wait there and be caught by the night, although he was almost as afraid to push the horses at once, in case they foundered. As he mounted again he noticed with a shock of fear that the water was lapping about the buggy wheels again, although they had been yards from the edge when they halted.
“River up and still rising,” he quoted. “We’re off again.” He could hardly urge the horses to a feeble trot, however, and presently pulled them to a walk, and jumped down and walked by their heads, talking to them and patting them. “Poor old Spot an’ Pot,” he called back; “they’re not used to this aquatic sport racket. Never trained for any mile championship swims. They’ll buck up presently, though, Miss Ess. Don’t get scared.”
“Dolly,” she said quaveringly. “I’m an awful coward, but I’m—I’m getting frightened. I remember Mr. Sinclair told me there was another channel further on that filled before that one we’ve come through. How will we get over that? And it’s almost dark too.”
“We’ll get over right enough,” Dolly said encouragingly. “And look here, y’ know, Miss Ess. I know it looks awful dreary an’ dangerous an’ that sort of thing, but there’s nothing to be scared of really. Why, I could take you on my back and swim from here to our hills.”
“But what will we do when it comes dark, Dolly?” she persisted. “There are no stars and no track.”