CHAPTER XIV
A FATEFUL CROSSING
The remainder of the afternoon was passed in getting their supplies to the river. This task was accomplished with the greatest care possible. Sandy led the pack-horse, while Dick and Toma went forward, rifles in hand, ever on the alert. In dead silence, they scanned the woods to the right and left for a possible sign of their recent enemy.
One piece of good fortune came with the discovery of a safe crossing place in the river. Toma had found it after a half hour of reconnoitring, while Dick and Sandy awaited his return on the steep slope, near the top of the canyon.
“Mebbe we swim pony across in the morning,” he confided, smiling for the first time in several hours. “River wide an’ very few rapids. Find ’em plenty easy for raft.”
With Dick standing guard, the raft was built that same night, and, on the following morning, supplies and equipment aboard, they were ready for the crossing.
“The thing to do first,” said Sandy, scratching his head, “is to get our little playmate, Sir Bucking Broncho, into the water. How do we go about it, Toma?”
Toma led the pony down to the water’s edge and coaxed and cajoled the little beast but to no avail. The horse sniffed, snorted, swung around this way and that, but refused stubbornly to do more than wet his front fetlocks at the brink of the running stream. He was a good pony, but he was taking no chances.
Dick laughed in spite of himself, although the delay was irksome.
“I don’t know as I blame him very much. The water does look cold and it’s a long way across. Perhaps, we’ll have to leave him on this side after all. Do you suppose the three of us could push him in?”
The pack-horse not only refused to be pushed, but resented the liberty taken. A glancing blow sent Sandy reeling back and deposited him, none too gently, in the exact center of a willow copse, where he sat for a moment with a surprised look on his face. The look of surprise changed to one of anger as there came to his ears the loud guffaws of Dick and Toma.