With the setting of the sun, the temperature had fallen a number of degrees. Alden was warmly clothed, but had no blanket. When he left the train in company with Jethro he expected to rejoin his friends before the close of the afternoon and a blanket would have been an incumbrance, but quite acceptable now.
“I hope ’Ceph won’t have to swim,” he said, with a shudder: “I shall be chilled, for I know the water is icy, but there’s no help for it.”
The roar that had caught his attention some time before sounded on his left in the direction of the ridge, where the signal fire was burning. The explanation was clear: the stream issued from some gorge or tumbled over rapids or falls, and gave out the noise that was audible for a long distance in the stillness of approaching night.
The pony felt his way carefully, with nose thrust forward, occasionally snorting and not bearing down until he found the bottom with his advanced hoof. Once he slipped, but instantly recovered himself.
Alden waited till his feet were within a few inches of the surface. Then he slipped them out of the stirrups and drew them up in front.
