British -- Canada -- Fiction; Love stories; Ranchers -- Canada, Western -- Fiction
Brooke had no diffidence about taking the last place in the line. Though
he was in charge of the pack train, it was evident that the men knew a
good deal more about that ford than he did, and he had no particular
desire to make himself responsible for a disaster. Then there was a
scrambling and splashing, and he found himself suddenly waist-deep in
the river. He was, however, tolerably accustomed to a ford, and though
the mule he led objected strenuously to entering the water, it proceeded
with that beast's usual sagacity once it was in. He endeavored to keep
its head a trifle up-stream, and as close behind his two companions as
he could, but apart from that he left the beast to the guidance of its
own acumen, for he knew that it is seldom the sagacious mule takes any
risk that can be avoided.
Twice, at least, his feet were swept from under him, and once he lost
his grip on the bridle, and simultaneously all sight of his companions
and the beast he led. Then he felt unpleasantly lonely as he stood more
than waist-deep in the noisy flood, but after a few yards floundering he
found the mule again, and at last scrambled up, breathless and gasping,
beneath the pines on the farther side.
"Hit it square that time!" said the teamster. "I'm not quite so sure as
I'd like to be we can do it again."
They went back through the river for the rest of the mules, and were
half-way across on the return journey when the leader shouted to them
that they should stop. The water seemed deeper than it had been on the
previous occasion, and Brooke found it difficult to keep his footing at
all as he peered into the darkness. The rain had ceased, but there was
little visible beyond the faint whiteness of sliding froth, and a
shadowy blur of trees on either shore. He could see nothing that might
serve any one as guide, and the leading teamster was standing still,
apparently in a state of uncertainty, with dim streaks of froth
streaming past him.
"I'm 'most afraid we're too far down-stream," he said. "Anyway, we can't
stay here. Head the beasts up a little."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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