addled against
the tide with all his might to keep from being borne too far down
stream for a safe landing place.

Beverley stood at ease idly and half dreamily looking on, when suddenly
something caused a catastrophe, which for a moment he did not
comprehend. In fact the man in the pirogue came to grief, as a man in a
pirogue is very apt to do, and fairly somersaulted overboard into the
water. Nothing serious would have threatened (for the man could swim
like an otter) had not a floating, half submerged log thrust up some
short, stiff stumps of boughs, upon the points of which the man struck
heavily and was not only hurt, but had his clothes impaled securely by
one of the ugly spears, so that he hung in a helpless position, while
the water's motion alternately lifted and submerged him, his arms
beating about wildly.

When Beverley heard a strangling cry for help, he pulled himself
promptly together, flung off his coat, as if by a single motion, and
leaped down the bank into the water. He was a swimmer whose strokes
counted for all that prodigious strength and excellent training could
afford; he rushed through the water with long sweeps, making a
semicircle, rounding against the current, so as to swing down upon the
drowning man.

Less than a half-hour later a rumor by some means spread throughout the
town that Father Beret and Lieutenant Beverley were drowned in the
Wabash. But when a crowd gathered to verify the terrible news it turned
out to be untrue. Gaspard Roussillon had once more distinguished
himself by an exhibition of heroic nerve and muscle.

"Ventrebleu! Quel homme!" exclaimed Oncle Jazon, when told that M.
Roussillon had come up the bank of the Wabash with Lieutenant Beverley
under one arm and Father Beret under the other, both men apparently
dead.

"Bring them to my house immediately," M. Roussillon ordered, as soon as
they were restored to consciousness; and he shook himself, as a big wet
animal sometimes does, covering everybody near him with muddy water.
Then he led the way with melodramatic strides.

In justice to historical accuracy there must be a trifling reform of
what appeared on the face of things to be grandly true. Gaspard
Roussillon actually dragged Father Beret and Lieutenant Beverley one at
a time out of the eddy water and up the steep river bank. That was
truly a great feat; but the hero never explained. When men arrived he
was standing between the collapsed forms, panting and drip