“It looks like it,” Neil agreed. “We might as well go back for the carts. This is the easiest place we’ve seen to bring them down.”
Louis shook his head. “Wait a bit,” he commanded. “I must see if the crossing is safe. The trail is old. There are no signs that anyone has crossed recently, and the river is yet far from its lowest point. You stay here, and I will try to trace the ford and make sure it is not too deep.”
“All right,” consented Neil. “I’ll keep an eye on you. If you get into trouble, I’ll go to your help.”
The water was so thick and muddy, Louis could scarcely see whether it was deep or shallow. His pony was sure footed, and picked its way carefully. So he left the finding of the ford to the animal’s instinct and intelligence. Slowly they made their way across. The water rose to the horse’s sides, but did not carry it off its feet, as the current was sluggish. There was one deep place, however, where the pony was forced to swim a few yards.
Neil, mounted and ready to go to the rescue, watched anxiously. His help was not needed. The pony found foothold, and was soon scrambling up the farther bank to dry land. Dismounting, Louis patted the animal and rubbed its nose. Unlike the bois brulés, he treated his beasts kindly. He had brought this horse up from colthood, and it had no fear of him. After resting a few minutes, boy and pony made their way back again.
“Can we get the carts across?” asked Neil, as Louis, wet to the waist, reached shore.
“Yes, if we pull them over with ropes. We can take my mother and the children on the horses. There is only the one deep place, and the current is not strong. César knew the way. He took me out where the trail goes up from the water. This is an old fording place.”
“St. Antoine said nothing about a trail.”
“No, I think this is not the place where he crossed. We may be miles from that spot.”
“If we can get across here, that is all we care about,” returned Neil.