ed
straight for the stream. He was blind with running; he was numbed by the
long horror of that effort, no doubt, but there was enough strength
left in him to understand the master's mind. He tossed his head high, he
flaunted out his tail, and sped with a ghost of his old sweeping gallop
toward the bank.

"Bart!" shouted the master, and waved his arm.

And the wolf saw too. He seemed to cringe for a moment, and then, like
some old leader of a pack who knows he is about to die and defies his
death, he darted for the river and flung himself through the air.

An instant later Satan reared on the bank and shot into the air. Below
him the teeth of the rocks seemed to lift up in hunger, and the white
foam jumped to take him. The crest of the arc of his jump was passed; he
shot lower and grazing the last of the stones he plunged out of sight
in the swift water beyond. There were two falls, not one, for even while
the black was in the air Barry slipped from his back and struck the
water clear of Satan.

They came up again struggling in the last effort toward the shore. The
impetus of their leap had washed them well in toward the bank, but the
currents dragged them out again toward the center of the stream where
the rocks waited. Down river they went, and Black Bart alone had a ghost
of a chance for success. His leap had been farther and he skimmed the
surface when he struck so that by dint of fierce swimming he hugged
close to the shore, and then his claws bedded in the sand-bank.

As for Barry, the waters caught him and sent him spinning over and over,
like a log, whipping down stream, while the heavier body of Satan was
struggling whole yards above. There was no chance for the master to
reach the sand-bank, and even if he reached it he could not cling; but
the wolf-dog knew many things about water. In the times of famine long
years before the days of the master there had been ways of catching
fish.

He edged forward until the water foamed about his shoulders. Down came
Dan, his arms tumbling as he whirled, and on the sleeve of one of those
arms the teeth of Bart closed. The cloth was stout, and yet it ripped as
if it were rotten veiling, and the tug nearly swept Bart from his place.
Still, he clung; his teeth shifted their hold with the speed of light
and closed over the arm of the master itself, slipped, sank deeper, drew
blood, and held. Barry swung around and a moment later stood with his
feet buried firmly in the b