of worn leather chaps lying on a rock.
"How can I wear chaps in this dress?" asked Janey.
"I don't know. Stuff your skirt down in them. Reckon there's not much to stuff."
Janey overlooked his retort, and picking up the chaps she stepped into them. They were too long and too large. From the expression on Randolph's face she gathered that she must be a peculiar-looking object.
It was when Janey tried mounting her horse that she came to grief. The chaps were stiff and heavy, and she could not reach the stirrup with her foot. Randolph offered to lift her up, but she declined. Finally she made a violent effort, a sort of spring. She missed the pommel with her hand and the stirrup with her foot, and fell flat. Janey scrambled up quite enraged. If there was anything she hated it was to look clumsy. Randolph's face had a strained look. He was holding in his laughter.
"I--I suggest you try to mount from the rock there," he said.
"I'll get up here or die," replied Janey, furiously.
Next time she lifted her left foot with both hands and got it in the stirrup. Then she leaped, sprung from her right foot, and, catching pommel and cantle, she dragged herself up into the saddle.
"Not so bad for a tenderfoot," observed Randolph. Whereupon he rode off, leading the pack horse.
Janey followed down the slope of wet red earth, by some scrawled rocks, into the canyon. They rounded a corner to come upon the muddy swift stream. It was silent here, but from below came up a dull roar. Janey had never seen such dirty-looking water. It was half silt. What a terrifying place to venture into!
Randolph crossed a flat sand bar, and urged his horse into the water. He spurred, and yelled, and dragged at the pack animal. They set up a great muddy splashing. Janey gathered that the more speed used here, the easier and safer the crossing. Her heart simply leaped to her throat. Randolph's horse went in to his flanks. What a tremendous but clumsy struggle the two animals made! Janey almost lost sight of them in the splashing. They reached shallow water, heaved up, and waded out safely on the bar opposite. Randolph halted his horse and turned to look. For a moment he merely looked.
"Well, Central Park," he called, in a tone that challenged Janey.
"Coming, fossil hunter!" she replied, defiantly.
Surefoot naturally would rather have turned back. Janey had to kick him to start him at all. And then she could not make him go fast enough. He splashed in to his knees, slowed up, and began to flounder.
"Come hard," yelled Randolph.
Janey urged her horse with all her might. It was too late for good results. Surefoot struck the deep water at too slow a gait, and the current carried him off his feet. Janey's distended eyes saw the red flood well to her hips. How cold, angry, strong. Randolph rode madly down along the opposite bank, yelling she knew not what. In the presence of real peril Janey's sense and nerve rose to combat her terror. She kept her seat in the saddle. She pulled Surefoot diagonally downstream. He was half swimming and half wading. Fifty yards below where Randolph had crossed, Janey's horse struck shallow water and harder bottom and made shore just above a place where the stream constricted between steep banks, and began to get rough.
Randolph had waded his horse in to meet hers.
"You should have ridden in fast," he said, almost harshly. But the fact that his face was white caused Janey to forgive his rudeness.
"You told me a little late," replied Janey, coolly.
"I apologize. I--I thought you would follow suit," he returned with an effort.
Janey did not need to be told what a narrow escape it had been. She effectively concealed her real feelings.
"Pray don't apologize. I didn't expect much courtesy from you," she said, evenly.
The blood leaped to Randolph's pale cheek and he stifled a retort. Then he rode back to the pack animal and took up the halter again. Janey rode on behind him, pondering over the possibilities of this eventful
"How can I wear chaps in this dress?" asked Janey.
"I don't know. Stuff your skirt down in them. Reckon there's not much to stuff."
Janey overlooked his retort, and picking up the chaps she stepped into them. They were too long and too large. From the expression on Randolph's face she gathered that she must be a peculiar-looking object.
It was when Janey tried mounting her horse that she came to grief. The chaps were stiff and heavy, and she could not reach the stirrup with her foot. Randolph offered to lift her up, but she declined. Finally she made a violent effort, a sort of spring. She missed the pommel with her hand and the stirrup with her foot, and fell flat. Janey scrambled up quite enraged. If there was anything she hated it was to look clumsy. Randolph's face had a strained look. He was holding in his laughter.
"I--I suggest you try to mount from the rock there," he said.
"I'll get up here or die," replied Janey, furiously.
Next time she lifted her left foot with both hands and got it in the stirrup. Then she leaped, sprung from her right foot, and, catching pommel and cantle, she dragged herself up into the saddle.
"Not so bad for a tenderfoot," observed Randolph. Whereupon he rode off, leading the pack horse.
Janey followed down the slope of wet red earth, by some scrawled rocks, into the canyon. They rounded a corner to come upon the muddy swift stream. It was silent here, but from below came up a dull roar. Janey had never seen such dirty-looking water. It was half silt. What a terrifying place to venture into!
Randolph crossed a flat sand bar, and urged his horse into the water. He spurred, and yelled, and dragged at the pack animal. They set up a great muddy splashing. Janey gathered that the more speed used here, the easier and safer the crossing. Her heart simply leaped to her throat. Randolph's horse went in to his flanks. What a tremendous but clumsy struggle the two animals made! Janey almost lost sight of them in the splashing. They reached shallow water, heaved up, and waded out safely on the bar opposite. Randolph halted his horse and turned to look. For a moment he merely looked.
"Well, Central Park," he called, in a tone that challenged Janey.
"Coming, fossil hunter!" she replied, defiantly.
Surefoot naturally would rather have turned back. Janey had to kick him to start him at all. And then she could not make him go fast enough. He splashed in to his knees, slowed up, and began to flounder.
"Come hard," yelled Randolph.
Janey urged her horse with all her might. It was too late for good results. Surefoot struck the deep water at too slow a gait, and the current carried him off his feet. Janey's distended eyes saw the red flood well to her hips. How cold, angry, strong. Randolph rode madly down along the opposite bank, yelling she knew not what. In the presence of real peril Janey's sense and nerve rose to combat her terror. She kept her seat in the saddle. She pulled Surefoot diagonally downstream. He was half swimming and half wading. Fifty yards below where Randolph had crossed, Janey's horse struck shallow water and harder bottom and made shore just above a place where the stream constricted between steep banks, and began to get rough.
Randolph had waded his horse in to meet hers.
"You should have ridden in fast," he said, almost harshly. But the fact that his face was white caused Janey to forgive his rudeness.
"You told me a little late," replied Janey, coolly.
"I apologize. I--I thought you would follow suit," he returned with an effort.
Janey did not need to be told what a narrow escape it had been. She effectively concealed her real feelings.
"Pray don't apologize. I didn't expect much courtesy from you," she said, evenly.
The blood leaped to Randolph's pale cheek and he stifled a retort. Then he rode back to the pack animal and took up the halter again. Janey rode on behind him, pondering over the possibilities of this eventful
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