Clear of the herd, they dashed onward again at breakneck speed, Donny handling the ribbons like a veritable Jehu. Round corners on two wheels; down into hollows with a terrific bump; up steep slopes at a canter; mile after mile left behind; and the two constables in the back seat, hanging on like leeches, looked at each other through the dust and grinned.
"Chief's crazy!" muttered Dunsmuir, sideways, through his teeth. "This is pounding my ruddy tail off!"
They sighted the river—broad and deep and silver-grey, winding slowly through shouldering rollers of drab brown land. Donny swung his sweating horses down towards the ford—swung them, drove them on—halted—
"What are you stopping for?"
The chief's voice lashed him unmercifully.
"It looks very tricky, sir," Donny answered doubtfully, with a thoughtful hand to his big moustache. "Over the horses' heads, I should say, sir. How about the other ford, sir?"
"Ten miles up? No!"
"He's going to drown the lot of us," whispered Kellett.
Hector seemed to catch the thought though he had not heard the words.
"If you're afraid to go on, any of you, you can get out," he said.