“I’ll try it wi’ you, Steve,” said Scottie. “Twa micht be a help tae ane anither.”
They arranged it so, but, just as they were preparing to ride in, there was a shout from the darkness, and Darby the Bull clattered up and halted abruptly, grinning wetly at sight of them.
“I beat ’im,” he shouted. “I beat the silly cow. Turned ’im round so ’e couldn’t see the water, an’ smacked ’im about the chops wi’ me ’at. An’ he backed an’ backed till ’is hind legs slipped over the bank, an’ then I shoved ’im in. ’E couldn’t climb back, so he come on over.”
When he heard the plans just made, he announced his intention of taking it with the other two.
“Ol’ Blunderbuss can make it if any ’orse can,” he persisted. “You’ve no idea wot a wunner ’e is for water. Go on—I’m comin’.”
So they rode down to the edge and let the horses sniff at it, and back away, and advance cautiously again, and wade slowly and carefully in.
Blunderbuss was loath to go, but Darby wrenched his head back every time he tried to turn, and flailed at his flanks with spurred heels. They came through the broken water and passed slowly into the smoother but stronger current beyond.
The horses went in a step at a time, snorting fearfully as they went, the riders leaving their heads free and sitting ready to slide off their backs if they were swept away and forced to swim. Steve’s and Scottie’s horses lost their footing almost at the same instant, and went shooting downstream with the men dragging behind, and striking out to lessen the drag. Darby’s horse stood higher and his weight was greater, so he won a few paces further before he was carried down, and he made a straighter and faster line across, and won to the shallower water on the other side above the other two. But just as he found footing again a stick of floating timber shot out of the darkness and took the horse off his feet, and carried him away, rolling over and over as he went.
Steve and Scottie came to the firm ground just in time to see Darby come squattering ashore like a duck with a broken wing. “Rough luck,” he sputtered ruefully, “after gettin’ ’im so far; but serve the silly blighter right.”
“You can walk the rest to the town,” cried Steve. “We won’t coo-ee to the others. It’s bad enough, and we might lose more horses, or a man, and we’d lose time trying to help him. You’ll be able to pick up another horse in the township, Darby. Come on, Scottie.”