"The Saverack," said Nash. "Now what d'you think about fording it?"
"If we can't ford it, we can swim it," declared Bard. "Look at that
tree-trunk. If that will float I will float, and if I can float I can
swim, and if I can swim I'll reach the other bank of that little creek.
Won't we, boy?"
And he slapped the proud neck of the mustang.
"Swim it?" said Nash incredulously. "Does that date mean as much as that
to you?"
"It isn't the date; it's the promise I gave," answered the other,
watching the current with a cool eye, "besides, when I was a youngster
I used to do things like this for the sport of it."
They rode down to the edge of the stream.
"How about it, Nash, will you take the chance with me?"
And the other, looking down: "Try the current, I'll stay here on the
shore and if it gets too strong for you I'll throw out a rope, eh? But
if you can make it, I'll follow suit."
The other cast a somewhat wistful eye of doubt upon the cowpuncher.
"How far is it to the ford?" he asked.
"About eight miles," answered Nash, doubling the distance on the spot.
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