The trail was steep.

Helen had not lost all feeling, as she had believed and hoped.

Her poor, mistreated body still responded excruciatingly to concussions, jars, wrenches, and all the other horrible movements making up a horse-trot.
For long Helen did not look up.

When she did so there lay a green, willow-bordered, treeless space at the bottom of the valley, through which a brown-white stream rushed with steady, ear-filling roar.
Dale and Roy drove the pack-animals across the stream, and followed, going deep to the flanks of their horses.

Bo rode into the foaming water as if she had been used to it all her days.