The ford was nearly a mile wide, a shallow current, in some places only
a glaze, but with shifting sands stirring beneath it. Through the
thin, glass-like spread of water the backs of sand bars emerged, smooth
as the bodies of recumbent monsters. On the far side the plateau
stretched, lilac with the lupine flowers, the broken rear line of the
herd receding across it.
The doctor, feeling the way, was to ride in the lead, his wagon
following with Susan and Daddy John on the driver's seat. It seemed an
easy matter, the water chuckling round the wheels, the mules not wet
above the knees. Half way across, grown unduly confident, the doctor
turned in his saddle to address his daughter when his horse walked into
a quicksand and unseated him. It took them half an hour to drag it
out, Susan imploring that her father come back to the wagon and change
his clothes. He only laughed at her which made her angry. With
frowning brows she saw him mount again, and a dripping, white-haired
figure, set out debonairly for the opposite bank.
The sun was low, the night chill coming on when they reached it.
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