Even then it was thought of Peter that filled her brain. Somehow she
was not afraid. She was not terrified, as she had often been of the
flood-rush of waters that smashed down the creeks in springtime. An
inundating roar was over her, under her, and all about her; it beat in
a hissing thunder against the drums of her ears, yet it did not
frighten her as she had sometimes been frightened. Even in that black
chaos which was swiftly suffocating the life from her, unspoken words
of cheer for Peter formed in her heart, and she struggled to hold him
to her, while with her other hand she fought to raise herself by the
stub of the log to which she clung. For she was not thinking of him as
Peter, the dog, but as something greater--something that had fought for
her that day, and because of her had died.

Suddenly she felt a force pulling her from above. It was the big log,
turning again to that point of equilibrium which for a space her weight
had destroyed. In the edge of a quieter pool where the water swirled
but did not rush, her brown head appeared, and then her white face, and
with a last mighty effort she thrust up Peter so that his dripping body
was on the log. Sobbingly she filled her lungs with air. But the drench
of water and her hair blinded her so that she could not see. And she
found all at once that the strength had gone from her body. Vainly she
tried to drag herself up beside Peter, and in the struggle she raised
herself a little, so that a low-hanging branch of a tree swept her like
a mighty arm from the log.

With a cry she reached out for Peter. But he was gone, the log was
gone, and she felt a vicious pulling at her hair, as Jed Hawkins
himself had often pulled it, and for a few moments the current pounded
against her body and the tree-limb swayed back and forth as it held her
there by her hair.

If there was pain from that tugging, Nada did not feel it. She could
see now, and thirty yards below her was a wide, quiet pool into which
the log was drifting. Peter was gone. And then, suddenly, her heart
seemed to stop its beating, and her eyes widened, and in that moment of
astounding miracle she forgot that she was hanging by her hair in the
ugly lip of the flood, with slippery hands beating and pulling at her
from below. For she saw Peter--Peter in the edge of the pool--making
his way toward the shore! For a space she could not believe. It must be
his dead body drifting. It could not be Peter--swimming! And