until it foamed about
his waist, and stretching out his arms he called to the stallion.
Had he possessed ten times the power of voice he could not have made
himself heard above the rioting of the Little Smoky but his gesture
could be seen, and even a dumb beast could understand it. The
chestnut, at least, comprehended for to the joy of Perris he now saw
those gallant ears come forward again, and turning as well as he
could, Alcatraz swam stoutly for the shore. In the hour of need, the
Great Enemy had become his last hope.

But his progress towards the sloping bank was small. For every inch
he fought to the bank the current carried him a foot down stream, yet
those inches gained in the lateral direction were every one priceless.
Finally Perris swung the lariat and shot it through the air. Fair and
true the circle struck above the head of the stallion and the hunter
shouted with hysterical triumph; a moment later he groaned as the
current whirled the rope over the head of Alcatraz and down stream.

Yet he fought the hopeless fight. Staggering in the currents, beaten
from his footing time and again, Perris stumbled down stream gathering
his rope for a new cast as he went. Neither had the chestnut abandoned
the struggle. His last efforts had swerved him about and now he headed
up stream with the water foaming about his red, distended nostrils;
but still through the whipping spray his great eyes were fixed on
Perris. As for the man, there was a prayer in the voice with which he
shouted: "Alcatraz!" and hurled the rope again.

Heavy with the water it had soaked up the noose splashed in a rough
circle around the head of the swimmer and then cut down into the
water. Hand over hand he drew in the slack, felt resistance, then a
jar that toppled him from his foothold. The noose had indeed caught
around the neck of the stallion, but the success threatened to be his
ruin. Toppled head over heels in the rush of the Little Smoky, still
his left hand gripped the rope and as he came gasping to the surface
his feet struck and lodged strongly against the surface of a great
boulder. His one stroke of luck!

He had no time to give thanks. The next moment the full weight of the
torrent on Alcatraz whipped the lariat quivering out of the water. The
horse was struggling in the very center of the strongest current and
the tug on the arms of Perris made his shoulder sockets ache. He
endured that pain, praying that his hands would not slip o