Toma walked back, leading the horse. Thirty feet from the shore he bolted to the pony’s bare back, wheeled the animal abruptly about, and came forward at a brisk trot. Dick and Sandy jumped aboard the raft, poles in hand, ready to push off. At the river’s edge the pony hesitated, but a quick pressure from Toma’s heels sent him plunging into the water. A second later steed and rider struck out boldly for the opposite shore.
As the raft came abreast of the two swimmers, Toma released his hold of the pony’s mane and, lead-rope in hand, scrambled aboard.
“Like clock work,” exulted Sandy, slapping Toma’s dripping shoulders. “You’re a wonder, Toma, and there’s no mistake about that. Even Dick would never have dared to pull a stunt like that.”
“You’re right,” Dick returned good-naturedly, “I never would.”
The crossing was made without mishap. As the craft glided up to the rocky shore, Dick and Sandy cheered lustily.
“Before we do anything more,” said Dick a few minutes later, when they had unloaded the raft, “I think we had better decide upon some definite course of action. Unless this map and everything connected with it is a hoax, we are now within a few miles of the mine.”
“Yes,” said Sandy.
“Well,” Dick continued, “we are all very anxious to find it. From now on our search must be painstaking and we musn’t waste any more time than is absolutely necessary.”
“Of course,” Sandy agreed, “but where are we going to look first?”
“That’s a question we’d better decide right away. The place where we’re standing now,” Dick made a sweeping gesture with his arm, “seems to form one end of a more or less oval space, which lies between the river on one side and the dry canyon or ravine on the other.