CHAPTER VIII.
ADRIFT ON THE DESERT.
The consternation which Coyote’s words caused may be imagined. The Border Boys hastily snatched up what they could, and with Professor Wintergreen sprinting beside them, they dashed off, making for the higher ground off to the right of their camping place. Behind them came the wall of white, angry water, uplifting its snowy crest gleamingly through the darkness.
But suddenly Jack stopped short.
“Here, take these,” he exclaimed, thrusting his rifle and blankets into Ralph’s hands.
Before the other could reply Jack was off into the night, sprinting away as he had not done since the field meet at Stonefell, when he won that memorable two hundred yard dash. The lad had suddenly recollected, and bitterly censured himself for it, too, that in the first flash of panic he had entirely forgotten to turn their stock loose. Tethered as they were, the animals would be drowned and the party helpless, unless the creatures were set free to swim for their lives, or gallop off before the flood.
Fortunately, it was not far, as the animals were staked out some distance below the camp and in the general direction in which the active lads had been fleeing.
As he ran, Jack felt for and found his knife, a big-bladed, heavily-handled affair. Reaching the ponies’ sides, he hastily slashed, with heavy sweeps of his stout blade, one after another of the tethers. The animals, super-sensitive to approaching danger, were already wildly excited, and as their halter lines parted one after another, they dashed off madly.
The last animal for Jack to reach was Firewater. But the pony, instead of dashing off like the others, nuzzled close to Jack, shivering and sweating in an extremity of terror. Do what he could, Jack could not get him to move. All at once the boy threw a quick glance behind as a rapid footstep sounded.
“Coyote!” he cried.