In the swelling did Hare felt the resistless pull of the current.  As he held on with both hands, hard pressed to keep his grasp, Silvermane dipped over a low fall in the river.  Then Hare was riding the rushing water of an incline.  It ended below in a red-crested wave, and beyond was a chaos of curling breakers.  Hare had one glimpse of Mescal crouching low, shoulders narrowed and head bent; then, with one white flash of the stallion’s mane against her flying black hair, she went out of sight in leaping waves and spray.  Hare was thrown forward into the backlash of the wave.  The shock blinded him, stunned him, almost tore his arms from his body, but his hands were so twisted in Silvermane’s tail that even this could not loosen them.  The current threw him from wave to wave.  He was dragged through a caldron, blind from stinging blows, deaf from the tremendous roar.  Then the fierce contention of waves lessened, the threshing of crosscurrents straightened, and he could breathe once more.  Silvermane dragged him steadily; and, finally, his feet touched the ground.  He could scarcely see, so full were his eyes of the sandy water, but he made out Mescal rising from the river on Silvermane, as with loud snorts he climbed to a bar.  Hare staggered up and fell on the sand.

“Jack, are you all right?” inquired Mescal.

“All right, only pounded out of breath, and my eyes are full of sand.  How about you?”

“I don’t think I ever was any wetter,” replied Mescal, laughing.  “It was hard to stick on holding the rifle.  That first wave almost unseated me.  I was afraid we might strike the rocks, but the water was deep.  Silvermane is grand, Jack.  Wolf swam out above the rapids and was waiting for us when we landed.”

Hare wiped the sand out of his eyes and rose to his feet, finding himself little the worse for the adventure.  Mescal was wringing the water from the long straight braids of her hair.  She was smiling, and a tint of color showed in her cheeks.  The wet buckskin blouse and short skirt clung tightly to her slender form.  She made so pretty a picture and appeared so little affected by the peril they had just passed through that Hare, yielding to a tender rush of pride and possession, kissed the pink cheeks till they flamed.

“All wet,” said he, “you and I, clothes, food, guns—­everything.”

“It’s hot and we’ll soon dry,” returned Mescal.  “Here’s the canyon and creek we must follow up to Coconina.  My peon mapped them in the sand for me one day.  It’ll probably be a long climb.”

Hare poured the water out of his boots, pulled them on, and helping Mescal to mount Silvermane, he took the bridle over his arm and led the way into a black-mouthed canyon, through which flowed a stream of clear water.  Wolf splashed and pattered along beside him.  Beyond the marble rock this canyon opened out to great breadth and wonderful walls.  Hare had eyes only for the gravelly bars and shallow levels