The bottom was hard, yes; but the bar was very crooked, with swimming water on either hand, with potholes ten feet deep and more all alongside.  And worst of all, there was a vast sweep of heavy water below the ford, which meant destruction and death for any wagon carried down.  Well had the crossing of the Snake earned its sinister reputation.  Courage and care alone could give any man safe-conduct here.

The women and children, crying, sat in the wagons, watching Bridger retrace the ford.  Once his stumbling horse swam, but caught footing.  He joined them, very serious.

“Hit’s fordin’ men,” said he, “but she’s mean, she shore is mean.  Double up all the teams, yoke in every loose ox an’ put six yoke on each wagon, er they’ll get swep’ down, shore’s hell.  Some o’ them will hold the others ef we have enough.  I’ll go ahead, an’ I want riders all along the teams, above and below, ter hold them ter the line.  Hit can be did—­hit’s wicked water, but hit can be did.  Don’t wait—­always keep things movin’.”

By this time the island was packed with the loose cattle, which had followed the wagons, much of the time swimming.  They were lowing meaningly, in terror—­a gruesome thing to hear.

The leader called to Price’s oldest boy, driving Molly’s cart, “Tie on behind the big wagon with a long rope, an’ don’t drive in tell you see the fust two yoke ahead holdin’.  Then they’ll drag you through anyhow.  Hang onto the cart whatever happens, but if you do get,’ in, keep upstream of any animile that’s swimmin’.”

“All set, men?  Come ahead!”

He led off again at last, after the teams were doubled and the loads had been piled high as possible to keep them dry.  Ten wagons were left behind, it being needful to drive back, over the roaring channel, some of the doubled heavy teams for them.

They made it well, foot by foot, the cattle sometimes swimming gently, confidently, as the line curved down under the heavy current, but always enough holding to keep the team safe.  The horsemen rode alongside, exhorting, assuring.  It was a vast relief when at the last gravel stretch they saw the wet backs of the oxen rise high once more.

“I’ll go back, Jesse,” said Kelsey, the man who had wanted to go to California.  “I know her now.”

“I’ll go with you,” added young Jed Wingate, climbing down from his wagon seat and demanding his saddle horse, which he mounted bare-backed.

It was they two who drove and led the spare yokes back to repeat the crossing with the remaining wagons.  Those on the bank watched them anxiously, for they drove straighter across to save time, and were carried below the trail on the island.  But they came out laughing, and the oxen were rounded up once more and doubled in, so that the last of the train was ready.

“That’s a fine mare of Kelsey’s,” said Wingate to Caleb Price, who with him was watching the daring Kentuckian at his work on the downstream and more dangerous side of the linked teams.  “She’ll go anywhere.”