But The Pilot kept his head, and, holding
by the stirrups, paddled along by Louis' side. When they were half-way
across Louis saw that he had no chance of making the landing; so, like
a sensible horse, he turned and made for the shore. Here, too, the banks
were high, and the pony began to grow discouraged.
"Let him float down further!" shrieked Gwen, in anxious excitement; and,
urging her pinto down the bank, she coaxed the struggling pony down the
stream till opposite a shelf of rock level with the high water. Then she
threw her lariat, and, catching Louis about the neck and the horn of
his saddle, she held taut, till, half drowned, he scrambled up the bank,
dragging The Pilot with him.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, almost tearfully. "You see, you couldn't
get across."
The Pilot staggered to his feet, took a step toward her, gasped out:
"I can!" and pitched headlong. With a little cry she flew to him, and
turned him over on his back. In a few moments he revived, sat up, and
looked about stupidly.
"Where's Louis?" he said, with his face toward the swollen stream.
"Safe enough," she answered; "but you must come in, the rain is just
going to pour."
But The Pilot seemed possessed.
"No, I'm going across," he said, rising.
Gwen was greatly distressed.
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