Deserts -- Fiction; Latter Day Saints -- Fiction; Utah -- Fiction; Western stories
They traversed the remaining slope of the plateau, and entering the head
of a ravine, descended a steep cleft of flinty rock, rock so hard that
Silvermane's iron hoofs not so much as scratched it. Then reaching a
level, they passed out to rounded sand and the river.
“It's a little high,” said Hare dubiously. “Mescal, I don't like the
looks of those rapids.”
Only a few hundred rods of the river could be seen. In front of Hare the
current was swift but not broken. Above, where the canyon turned, the
river sheered out with a majestic roll and falling in a wide smooth
curve suddenly narrowed into a leaping crest of reddish waves. Below
Hare was a smaller rapid where the broken water turned toward the nearer
side of the river, but with an accompaniment of twisting swirls and
vicious waves.
“I guess we'd better risk it,” said Hare, grimly recalling the hot rock,
the sand, and lava of the desert.
“It's safe, if Silvermane is a good swimmer,” replied Mescal. “We can
take the river above and cut across so the current will help.”
“Silvermane loves the water. He'll make this crossing easily. But he
can't carry us both, and it's impossible to make two trips. I'll have to
swim.”
Without wasting more words and time over a task which would only grow
more formidable with every look and thought, Hare led Silvermane up the
sand-bar to its limit. He removed his coat and strapped it behind the
saddle; his belt and revolver and boots he hung over the pommel.
“How about Wolf? I'd forgotten him.”
“Never fear for him! He'll stick close to me.”
“Now, Mescal, there's the point we want to make, that bar; see it?”
“Surely we can land above that.”
“I'll be satisfied if we get even there. You guide him for it. And,
Mescal, here's my gun. Try to keep it from getting wet. Balance it on
the pommel--so. Come, Silver; come, Wolf.”
“Keep up-stream,” called Mescal as Hare plunged in. “Don't drift below
us.”
In two steps Silvermane went in to his saddle, and he rolled with a
splash and a snort, sinking Mescal to her hips. His nose level with the
water, mane and tail floating, he swam powerfully with the current.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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