Hare staggered up
and fell on the sand.
"Jack, are you all right?" inquired Mescal.
"All right, only pounded out of breath, and my eyes are full of sand.
How about you?"
"I don't think I ever was any wetter," replied Mescal, laughing. "It was
hard to stick on holding the rifle. That first wave almost unseated me.
I was afraid we might strike the rocks, but the water was deep.
Silvermane is grand, Jack. Wolf swam out above the rapids and was
waiting for us when we landed."
Hare wiped the sand out of his eyes and rose to his feet, finding himself
little the worse for the adventure. Mescal was wringing the water from
the long straight braids of her hair. She was smiling, and a tint of
color showed in her cheeks. The wet buckskin blouse and short skirt
clung tightly to her slender form. She made so pretty a picture and
appeared so little affected by the peril they had just passed through
that Hare, yielding to a tender rush of pride and possession, kissed the
pink cheeks till they flamed.
"All wet," said he, "you and I, clothes, food, guns--everything."
"It's hot and we'll soon dry," returned Mescal.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315