"I forgot them in town, Dakota. We'll have to send one of the boys in for them."
When Dakota was gone Cockney addressed the Professor.
"I wouldn't advise you to try to ford the river in that buckboard."
"I wouldn't advise me to try it without the buckboard," laughed the Professor. "A bath-tub of water gives me a panic. And I'd never feel satisfied if I didn't cover all the ground."
"If it wouldn't be too late then," said Cockney, "I'd let you find out by trying. It's safe enough if you know the trail, and the river isn't high. Better learn to ride."
The Professor glanced guiltily at his sister.
"Amos," she reminded him sternly, "you said you'd learn."
"Isabel," he replied, "I'm funking."
"Let me give you the recipe," said Stamford. "You take Hobbles—it must be Hobbles; she's used to it by now—you take Hobbles to where the ground's soft. You get one able-bodied cowboy to hold her head and another—you might need two—to lift you into the saddle. Close your eyes, breathe the quickest prayer you know ... and brush the dead grass off your clothes where you landed. The cowboys'll catch Hobbles. One little secret I haven't yet told anyone: sneak your feet from the stirrups while you're praying. It's far easier to fall then."
But the Professor shook his head stubbornly.