Part 32 (1/2)

”Your horse is sure to roll over once or twice in the glacier streams, and you can save yourself if you're riding astride,” said a fourth.

”You're certain to get into quicksand somewhere on the trip, and if all your weight is on one side of your horse, you'll pull him down and he'll fall on top of you,” said a fifth.

In the face of all these cheerful horrors, our escort said:--

”Ride any way you please. If a woman can keep her head, she will pull through everything in Alaska. Besides, we are not going along for nothing!”

So we chose side-saddles, that having been our manner of riding since childhood.

We had waited three weeks for the glacial flood at the eastern side of the town to subside, and could wait no longer. It was roaring within ten steps of the back door of our hotel; and in two minutes after mounting, before our feet were fairly settled in the stirrups, we had ridden down the sloping bank into the boiling, white waters.

One of the gentlemen rode ahead as guide. I watched his big horse go down in the flood--down, down; the water rose to its knees, to its rider's feet, to _his_ knees--

He turned his head and called cheerfully, ”Come on!” and we went on--one at a time, as still as the dead, save for the splas.h.i.+ng and snorting of our horses. I felt the water, icy cold, rising high, higher; it almost washed my foot from the red-slippered stirrup; then I felt it mounting higher, my skirts floated out on the flood, and then fell, limp, about me. My glance kept flying from my horse's head to our guide, and back again. He was tall, and his horse was tall.

”When it reaches _his_ waist,” was my agonized thought, ”it will be over _my_ head!”

The other gentleman rode to my side.

”Keep a firm hold of your bridle,” said he, gravely, ”and watch your horse. If he falls--”

”Falls! _In here!_”

”They do sometimes; one must be prepared. If he falls--of course you can swim?”

”I never swam a stroke in my life; I never even tried!”

”Is it possible?” said he, in astonishment. ”Why, we would not have advised you to come at this time if we had known that. We took it for granted that you wouldn't think of going unless you could swim.”

”Oh,” said I, sarcastically, ”do all the women in Valdez swim?”

”No,” he answered, gravely, ”but then, they don't go over the trail.

Well, we can only hope that he will not fall. When he breaks into a swim--”

”_Swim!_ Will he do that?”

”Oh, yes, he is liable to swim any minute now.”

”What will I do then?” I asked, quite humbly; I could hear tears in my own voice. He must have heard them, too, his voice was so kind as he answered.

”Sit as quietly and as evenly as possible, and lean slightly forward in the saddle; then trust to heaven and give him his head.”

”Does he give you any warning?”

”Not the faintest--ah-h!”

Well might he say ”ah-h!” for my horse was swimming. Well might we all say ”ah-h!” for one wild glance ahead revealed to my glimmering vision that all our horses were swimming.

I never knew before that horses swam so _low down_ in the water. I wished when I could see nothing but my horse's ears that I had not been so stubborn about the saddle.

The water itself was different from any water I had ever seen. It did not flow like a river; it boiled, seethed, rushed, whirled; it pushed up into an angry bulk that came down over us like a deluge. I had let go of my reins and, leaning forward in the saddle, was clinging to my horse's mane. The rapidly flowing water gave me the impression that we were being swept down the stream.