"I wonder how deep this is," adding, as the
buck-board lifted and swerved when the current struck it: "By George!
They're off their feet," and leaning over the splashboard, lashed at the
undaunted little beasts until they raced up the opposite bank.
"That's the style!" he shouted in triumph, as they drew up, panting and
dripping well over the rise from the crossing. "Close thing, though!
Did you get your feet wet?"
"Did you get your feet wet!" That was all, when I was expecting every
form of concern imaginable. For a moment I felt indignant at Mac's
recklessness and lack of concern, and said severely, "You shouldn't take
such risks."
But Mac was blissfully unconscious of the severity. "Risks!" he said.
"Why, it wasn't wide enough for anything to happen, bar a ducking. If
you rush it, the horses are pushed across before they know they're off
their feet."
"Bar a ducking, indeed!" But Mac was out of the buck-board, shouting
back, "Hold hard there! It's a swim," and continued shouting directions
until the horses were across with comparatively dry pack-bags. Then he
and the Maluka shook hands and congratulated each other on being the
right side of everything.
"No more rivers!" the Maluka said.
"Clear run home, bar a deluge," Mac added, gathering up the reins.
