“There we are,” he called to the girl, who had fallen a little behind. “Wait a bit till I find a place to get down the bank on this side.”
Polly waited. Scott rode up and down the bank; finally he stopped.
“We’ll have to cross here,” he called. “It’s steep but it’s all right. Follow me,” and both he and his horse disappeared in the river bed. Polly rode up and took a look at the descent.
“I won’t go so far as to say that he picked a nasty one because he’s out of temper, but it looks like it,” she grumbled. “Go on, pony, if he can do it I suppose we can.”
The pony put her two forefeet over the edge of the descent and clung to solidity and sanity with her hind two.
“I don’t blame you. It’s what I’d do if I had four legs and some fool tried to make me slide down a precipice. But we’ve got to go. That man’s got a jaw like Napoleon and there’s no use arguing with him.”
She looked down. Scott had reached the bottom and was smiling back at her. One had to admit that he had the sort of smile which warmed up the atmosphere.
“Want me to come and lead her?” he offered.
“I do not.” Polly gave her mount a little dig with her heel, the tension on the hind legs relaxed, a series of slides and jolts and the descent was made. She found herself in the river with Scott while the horses drank thirstily.
“It was the only place to come down,” he said, penitently.