Part 7 (2/2)
”Do not leave me; do not go away,” she implored swiftly. ”Whatever you say is best, I will do.”
CHAPTER IX
ACROSS THE RIVER
He dropped his hand upon hers, clasping the clinging fingers tightly.
”Yes, we can make it,” he answered confidently. ”Wait until I make sure what is out there.”
He had slight recollection of the stream at this point, although he had crossed it often enough at the known fords, both above and below. Yet these crossings had always been accomplished with a horse under him, and a knowledge of where the trail ran. But he knew the stream, its peculiarities and dangers. It was not the volume of water, nor its depth he feared, for wide as it appeared stretching from bank to bank, he realized its shallow sluggishness. The peril lay in quicksand, or the plunging into some unseen hole, where the sudden swirl of water might pull them under. Alone he would have risked it recklessly, but with her added weight in his arms, he realized how a single false step would be fatal. The farther sh.o.r.e was invisible; he could perceive nothing but the slight gleam of water lapping the sand at his feet, as it flowed slowly, noiselessly past, and beyond, the dim outline of a narrow sand ridge. Even this, however, was encouragement, proving the shallowness of the stream. He turned about, his face so close he could see her eyes.
”We shall have to try it, Miss McDonald; you must permit me to carry you.”
”Yes.”
”And whatever happens do not scream--just cling tight to me.”
”Yes,” a little catching in her throat. ”Tell me first, please, just what it is you fear.”
”Quicksand princ.i.p.ally; it is in all these western rivers, and the two of us together on one pair of feet will make it harder to pull out of the suck. If I tell you to get down, do so quickly.”
”Yes.”
”Then there may be holes out there in the bottom. I don't mind those so much, although these cavalry boots are no help in swimming.”
”I can swim.”
”Hardly in your clothes; but I am glad to know it, nevertheless. You could keep afloat at least, and the holes are never very large. Are you ready now?”
She gave him her hands and stood up. The Sergeant drew in a long breath and transferred the haversack to her shoulder.
”We 'll try and keep that from getting soaked, if we can,” he explained. ”There is no hotel over in those sand-hills. Now hold on tight.”
He swung her easily to his broad shoulder, clasping her slender figure closely with one arm.
”That's it! Now get a firm grip. I 'll carry you all right.”
To the girl, that pa.s.sage was never more than a dim memory. Still partially dazed from the severe blow on her head, she closed her eyes as Hamlin stepped cautiously down into the stream and clung to him desperately, expecting each moment to be flung forward into the water.
But the Sergeant's mind was upon his work, and every detail of the struggle left its impress on his memory. He saw the dark sweep of the water, barely visible in the gleam of those few stars un.o.bscured by cloud, and felt the sluggish flow against his legs as he moved. The bottom was soft, yet his feet did not sink deeply, although it was rather difficult wading. However, the clay gave him more confidence than sand underfoot, and there was less depth of water even than he had antic.i.p.ated. He was wet only to the thighs when he toiled up on to the low spit of sand, and put the girl down a moment to catch a fresh breath and examine the broader stretch of water ahead. They could see both sh.o.r.es now, that which they had just left, a black, lumping, dim outline. Except for the lapping of the water at their feet, all was deathly still. Even the Indian fire had died out, and it was hard to conceive that savages were hidden behind that black veil, and that they two were actually fleeing for their lives. To the girl it was like some dreadful delirium of sleep, but the man felt the full struggle.
There was a star well down in the south he chose to guide by, but beyond that he must trust to good fortune. Without a word he lifted her again to his shoulder, and pushed on.
The water ran deeper, shelving off rapidly, until it rose well above his waist, and with sufficient current do that he was compelled to lean against it to maintain balance, scarcely venturing forward a foot at a time. Once he stumbled over some obstruction, barely averting a fall; he felt the swift clutch of her fingers at his throat, the quick adjustment of her body, but her lips gave no utterance of alarm. His groping feet touched the edge of a hole, and he turned, facing the current, tracing his way carefully until he found a pa.s.sage on solid bottom. A bit of driftwood swirled down out of the night; a water-soaked limb, striking against him before it was even seen, bruised one arm, and then dodged past like a wild thing, leaving a glitter of foam behind. The sand-dunes grew darker, more distinct, the water began to grow shallow, the bottom changing from mud to sand. He slipped and staggered in the uncertain footing, his breath coming in quicker gasps, yet with no cessation of effort. Once he felt the dreaded suck about his ankles, and broke into a reckless run, splas.h.i.+ng straight forward, falling at the water's edge, yet not before the girl was resting safely on the soft sand.
Strong as Hamlin was, his muscles trained by strenuous out-door life, he lay there for a moment utterly helpless, more exhausted from the nervous strain indeed, than the physical exertion. He had realized fully the desperate nature of that pa.s.sage, expecting every step to be engulfed, and the reaction, the knowledge that they had actually attained the sh.o.r.e safely, left him weak as a child, hardly able to comprehend the fact. The girl was upon her feet first, alarmed and solicitous, bending down to touch him with her hand.
”Sergeant, you are not hurt?” she questioned. ”Tell me you are not hurt?”
”Oh, no,” dragging himself up the bank, yet panting as he endeavored to speak cheerfully. ”Only that was a rather hard pull, the last of it, and I am short of breath. I shall be all right in a moment.”
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