Mr. Harrison did not finish, but the look on his face showed it would not be good for Con Morton if the old miner met him.
When the travelers got down into the valley, after climbing one chain of mountains, they found their further progress barred by a swift stream.
"Shall we ford it, or travel toward the head, where it isn't so wide?" asked Mr. Hurd.
"I'm in favor of crossing here," returned Gabe. "We've lost considerable time as it is, and I don't fancy going fifty or a hundred miles out of my way because of a brook."
"This is a pretty good-sized brook," said Mr. Curtin. "It looks dangerous. Suppose we wait until morning?"
It was then getting dusk, and they were anxious to make camp.
"Never stop on the near side of a stream, when night is coming on, is my motto," went on Gabe. "Can't tell but there'll be a big rain in the night, and the stream will be so risen that it will delay us a week. No, let's cross now, and camp on the other side. If it's too deep for wading, the horses can swim it."
They prepared to follow his advice. Their camp outfits were tightly tied in water-proof bags, and securely fastened to the saddles of the steeds. When this had been done it was quite dark, but they thought the crossing of the stream would not take long, so they urged the rather unwilling beasts into the water.
The horses proceeded cautiously, stepping slowly. Suddenly the animal on which rode the old miner got beyond its depth, and the next instant was swimming.
"No ford here," cried Gabe. "Look out for yourselves, everybody! Don't lean too far forward so's the horses' heads will go under. Hold your guns over your heads."