"It will be the death of us to swim our horses," she said with a shudder; "we shall freeze to death."
"That is not to be thought of," Brinton hastened to explain; "while the Cheyenne has many deep places at this season, there are others where a horse can wade across without wetting one's stirrups."
"But how are we to know such fords?"
"By trying, and there's no better place than this; wait till I make the attempt."
With commendable promptness he urged Jack forward, and the animal, understanding what was required of him, stepped among the pieces of ice along the bank. He slipped on one, and Edith uttered a cry of alarm.
"Look out, Brint! You will fall into the water."
"Don't fret about me," he called back.
A few reassuring words to his pony, who hesitated and sniffed, as if about to draw back, and he continued his cautious advance into the stream, the others anxiously watching his progress.
Should the water prove deep enough to force the steed to swim, it would never do, for that would necessitate the saturation of the garments of all, which meant freezing to death.
As long as the ponies maintained a sure footing, even though the water crept well up their sides, the riders could guard themselves against the dreaded wetting. Brinton, therefore, ventured into the stream with the utmost care, his animal feeling every step of the way. Ten steps from the bank, and the water touched Brinton's stirrups. He withdrew his feet and held them out of reach. He was so excellent a horseman that, by the pressure of his knees, he sat almost as firmly in the saddle as if with the support for his feet.