f the rapid.

CHAPTER XXV

"THE-MAN-WHO-CANNOT-DIE"

During the infinitesimal interim between the shock which hurled him
into the air, and the closing of the waters of Blood River over his
head, Bill Carmody's brain received a confusion of flashlike
impressions: The futile shouting and waving of arms upon the
man-crowded bank of the river; the sudden roar of the rapid; the tense
face of Fallon; the set jaw of big Stromberg as he stood ready to shoot
out the line; and, above all, the leering eyes and sneering lips of
Moncrossen.

The accident happened a scant sixty feet from the side of the straining
bateau, and the features of its occupants were brought out strongly in
the clear morning light.

As he disappeared beneath the surface Bill drew a long breath and,
opening his eyes, looked upward. A couple of swift strokes and his head
emerged where a small patch of light showed an open space.

Reaching out he grasped the rough bark of a log, shook the icy water
from his eyes, and reviewed his situation. His first thought was of the
bateau, but a shoreward glance revealed only the swiftly gliding trunks
of the forest wall with the bateau and the gesticulating crowd but a
blur in the distance.

Near him floated smoothly a huge forked trunk from whose prongs
protruded the stubs of lopped limbs. Releasing his hold, he swam toward
the big log which floated butt foremost among its lesser neighbors,
and, diving, came up between the forks and gripped firmly a limb stub.

On every hand thousands of logs floated quietly, seemingly motionless
as logs on the bosom of a mill-pond. Only the rushing walls of pine on
either side of the narrow river-aisle spoke of the terrific speed of
the drive.

Suddenly, as the great forked log swept around a bend, the peril of his
situation dawned upon him in all its horror. The dull roar changed to a
mighty bellow where the high-tossed white-water leaped high among the
submerged rocks of the rapid, and above its thunder sounded the heavy
rumble of the shock and grind of thousands of wildly pitching logs.

Only for a moment did he gaze out over the heaving forefront of the
drive. His log shot forward with the speed of a bullet as it was seized
in the grip of the current; the next moment it leaped clear of the
water and plunged blindly into the whirling tossing pandemonium of the
white-water gut.

Bill clung desperately to the stub, expecting each moment to be his
last. Close in th