along the deck, there came a slight
shock, a grating slide, and a rasping crash of wood. With a forward
churning of her paddles which sent water high along the rail, the _River
Belle_ shuddered and lay still, her engines throbbing and groaning.

In an instant every one on the boat was on his feet and running to the
side. I joined the rush to the bows, and leaning over, saw that we were
hard aground at the lower end of a sand bar. Imbedded in this bar was a
long white snag, a tree trunk whose naked arms, thrusting far down
stream, had literally impaled us. The upper woodwork of the boat was
pierced quite through; and for all that one could tell at the moment,
the hull below the line was in all likelihood similarly crushed. We hung
and gently swung, apparently at the mercy of the tawny flood of old
Missouri.

CHAPTER XIII

THE FACE IN THE FIRELIGHT

Sudden disaster usually brings sudden calm, the pause before resolution
or resignation. For the first instant after the shock of the boat upon
the impaling snag I stood irresolute; the next, I was busy with plans
for escape. Running down the companionway, I found myself among a crowd
of excited deck hands, most of whom, with many of the passengers, were
pushing toward the starboard rail, whence could be seen the gloom of the
forest along shore. The gangway door on the opposite side of the boat
was open, and as I looked out I could see the long white arms of the
giant snag reaching alongside. Without much plan or premeditation I
sprang out, and making good my hold upon the nearest limb as I plunged,
found myself, to my surprise, standing in not more than four feet of
water, the foot of the bar evidently running down well under the boat.

Just as I turned to call to others I saw the tall figure of my
plainsman, Auberry, appear at the doorway, and he also, with scarcely a
moment's deliberation, took a flying leap and joined me on the snag.
"It's better here than there," he said, "if she sinks or busts, and
they're allus likely to do both."

As we pulled ourselves up into the fork of the long naked branch we
heard a voice, and saw the face of a woman leaning over the rail of the
upper deck. I recognized my whilom friend, Mandy McGovern. "Whut you all
doin' down there?" she called. "Wait a minute; I'm comin', too." A
moment later she appeared at the opening of the lower deck and craned
out her long neck. I then saw at her side the figure of a young woman,
her hair f