It was a hundred yards in width, with a roiled and rapid current, which, so far as the eye could determine, might be a score of feet in depth.

The prospect of having to swim their ponies across was anything but pleasant, but the boys saw that a well-marked trail led down to the bank where they approached it, showing that it had been crossed and recrossed many times.
"There are places in that stream, which flows into the Platte," said the guide, "where it is a hundred feet deep.

It has whirlpools and eddies where the best swimmer couldn't save himself, and even a grizzly bear would drown." "I hope those places are a good way off," said Jack.
"There's one of 'em right over there to the left." "How are we going to reach the other side ?" asked Fred, in dismay.
"Foller me." As he spoke the guide spurred his animal into the muddy water, with the boys timidly at his heels and closely watching him.
At no time during the fording did the ponies sink above their knees.

It was a surprise and vast relief when they rode out on the other side without having been compelled to draw up their feet during the passage.
"And yet," explained their companion, "if you'd gone three yards to the right or left your critters would have had to swim for their lives, and you'd have had the worst soaking you ever knowed.

Now fur the ranch!".