Toma offered no explanation. He strode over and pulled the blanket from his pony.
“Mebbe we find bend little farther on. Me no think it very far now.”
Dick and Sandy winked at each other as they got once more into the saddle and followed Toma along the drifting trail. For a time they rode on in silence, once more conscious of the fury of the storm. Abruptly, the trail swung to the south and very soon they could see the broken, snow-covered valley of the river—so close that it seemed as if the trail ran into it. Here was the bend at last!
Dick recalled that Corporal Rand had instructed him to descend to the floor of the valley and make camp close to the river. They proceeded to do this, first dismounting and leading the ponies after them.
A short time later they had gained their objective. The ground was level here, densely overgrown with trees and shrubs. The river had not yet frozen over. Slush ice choked the current, making a grinding, roaring sound as it floated swiftly past. Here and there on the sandbars, large piles of ice and driftwood had been shoved ashore. In another twenty-four hours, with the steadily falling temperature, the stream would be frozen over, although it would be many days before it would be safe to cross on foot.
As he gathered driftwood for the fire, Dick’s gaze returned again and again to the ice-choked current. A thought suddenly came to him. Sergeant Richardson and Corporal Rand were to meet them here at nightfall. The two were travelling westward, and it would be necessary for them to cross the river here before they could go on to the cabin of the outlaws at Settlement Mountain.
Would they be able to do it? He looked out again across the grinding, grating field of ice and slowly shook his head. It was a feat he had no desire to attempt himself. It seemed foolhardy even to think of it. Not only would a raft be in imminent danger of being broken to pieces by the drifting chunks of ice in the whirling current, but there was also the possibility of its occupants being shaken or thrown precipitately into the river.
He consulted his watch. It was now nearly four o’clock. The short afternoon would soon be terminated by the approach of darkness. Night would descend, and he shuddered to think of any attempt on the part of the police party to cross.
When the flames from their campfire had commenced to leap up, radiating warmth and comfort in a wide circle around them, he broached the subject to Sandy and Toma.
“I don’t see how they’ll ever manage to get over. It’s getting late now. By the time they’ve built a raft, it will be so dark that it will be out of the question to think of crossing.”