as
he labored for breath, he was still all cheer and encouragement.

"Suvy," said he, "a failure is a chap who couldn't make a fire in hell.
We've got to cross this river if we have to burn it up."

He took the broncho's velvety nose in his hands and gave him a rough
little shake. Then he patted him smartly on the neck.

"For a pocket-size river," he said as he looked at the flood, "this is
certainly the infant prodigy. Well, let's try it again."

Had the plunge been straight to sudden death that broncho would have
risked it unswervingly at the urging of his master. Suvy was somewhat
exhausted by the trials already made, in vain. But into the turgid
down-sweep he headed with a newly conjured vigor.

Van now waited merely for the pony to get started on his way, when he
lifted away from the saddle, with the water's aid, and clung snugly up
to the stirrup. He swam with one hand only. To keep himself afloat
and offer no resistance to the broncho was the most that he could do,
and the best.

The struggle was tremendous. Suvy had headed more obliquely than
before against the current, and having encountered a greater
resistance, with his strength somewhat sapped, was toiling like an
engine.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, he forged his way against the liquid wall
that split upon him. Van felt a great final quiver of muscular energy
shake the living dynamic by his side, as Suvy poured all his fine young
might into one supreme effort at the end. Then he came to the landing,
got all his feet upon the slope, and up they heaved in triumph!

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE CLOUDS OF TROUBLE GATHER

By the route beyond the river that Van was obliged to choose, the
distance from his claim to Starlight was more than forty miles. His
pony had no shoes, and having never been ridden far, was a trifle soft
for a trip involving difficulties such as this mountain work abundantly
afforded. When they came to Phonolite Pass, the last of the cut-offs
on the trail, Van rode no more than a hundred yards into its shadows
before he feared he must turn.

Phonolite is broken shale, a thin, sharp rock that gives forth a
pleasant, metallic sound when struck, like shattered crockery. For a
mile this deposit lay along the trail across the width of the pass.
For the bare-footed pony there was cruelty in every step. The barrier
of rock was far more formidable than the river in its flood.

Van was not to be halted in his object. He had a