direct--to the river, across which, and a few miles up on Suction
Creek, he confidently expected to find the Flying U wagons. The coulee
wound aimlessly, with precipitous sides that he could not climb, even
by leading his horse. Happy Jack, under the sweltering heat of
mid-June sunlight, once more mopped his face, now more crimson than
ever, and relapsed into his habitual gloom. Just when he was telling
himself pessimistically that the chances were he would run slap out on
a cut bank where he couldn't get down to the river at all, the coulee
turned again and showed the gray-blue water slithering coolly past,
with the far bank green and sloping invitingly.

The horse hurried forward at a shuffling trot and thrust his hot
muzzle into the delicious coolness. Happy Jack slipped off and, lying
flat on his stomach, up-stream from the horse, drank deep and long,
then stood up, wiped his face and considered the necessity of
crossing. Just at this point the river was not so wide as in others,
and for that reason the current flowed swiftly past. Not too swiftly,
however, if one took certain precautions. Happy Jack measured mentally
the strength of the current and the proper amount of caution which it
would be expedient to use, and began his preparations; for the sun was
sliding down hill toward the western skyline, and he wished very much
to reach the wagons in time for supper, if he could.

Standing in the shade of the coulee wall, he undressed deliberately,
folding each garment methodically as he took it off. When the pile was
complete to socks and boots, he rolled it into a compact bundle and
tied it firmly upon his saddle. Stranger, his horse, was a good
swimmer, and always swam high out of water. He hoped the things would
not get very wet; still, the current was strong, and his
characteristic pessimism suggested that they would be soaked to the