The Last of the Plainsmen 



The Little Colorado seemed no more to me than 

 a shallow creek; I heard nothing sullen or menacing 

 in its musical flow. 



&quot;Doesn t look bad, eh?&quot; queried Emmett, who 

 read my thought. &quot; You d be surprised to learn how 

 many men and Indians, horses, sheep and wagons 

 are buried under that quicksand.&quot; 



The secret was out, and I wondered no more. At 

 once the stream and wet bars of sand took on a 

 different color. I removed my boots, and waded 

 out to a little bar. The sand seemed quite firm, but 

 water oozed out around my feet; and when I stepped, 

 the whole bar shook like jelly. I pushed my foot 

 through the crust, and the cold, wet sand took hold, 

 and tried to suck me down. 



&quot; How can you ford this stream with horses? &quot; I 

 asked Emmett. 



&quot; We must take our chances,&quot; replied he. &quot; We ll 

 hitch two teams to one wagon, and run the horses. 

 I ve forded here at worse stages than this. Once 

 a team got stuck, and I had to leave it; another time 

 the water was high, and washed me downstream.&quot; 



Emmett sent his son into the stream on a mule. 

 The rider lashed his mount, and plunging, splashing, 

 crossed at a pace near a gallop. He returned in the 

 same manner, and reported one bad place near the 

 other side. 



14 



