when at length he emerged there was
a big, gleaming fish in one hand. Ida saw him jerk its head back, with
his fingers in its gills, and then, standing upright, he hurled it
toward her.

"It beats the major's largest one!" he announced.

Ida laid down her rod and scrambled toward the fish; but there was a
splashing sound as she bent over it, and when she looked around
sharply she saw the big pine slide out into the stream. Weston stood
with his back toward her, apparently gazing at the rock, until he
suddenly leaped forward and clutched at it. She could not see what he
clung to, but the surface was uneven, and he evidently had found a
foothold. Then, while a thrill of horror ran through her, she glanced
at the pine and saw it whirl out into the rapid. Twice the top of it,
which swung clear, came down with a splash, and then it plunged wildly
into spray about the fall. She did not care to watch what became of
it, and she clenched her hands hard as she looked around again.

Weston was clinging to the rock, and his face, which was turned partly
toward her, was set and grim. In a moment he moved forward a little,
feeling with outstretched hand for a fresh hold, while one foot
splashed in the swirling water. Ida held her breath as she watched
him. He swung suddenly forward a yard or so, and then, with a wild
scramble, found a foothold. Ida, who was conscious that her heart was
beating painfully fast, wondered what kept him from falling. There was
not a crevice or a cranny that she could see; but she could not see
anything very well, except the tense figure stretched against the
stone and the set, white face. Dark pines and foaming water had faded
into insignificance.

He moved again, and crept forward with agonizing slowness, until at
length he stopped and gazed at the wall of rock still in front of him.
That part of it was very smooth and overhung a little between where he
was and the steeply sloping strip of shingle on which the girl stood.
The stream swirled past furiously, and it was evident to Ida that if
he lost his hold it must sweep him down the rapid and over the fall.

She was never sure how long he clung there, but his white face and the
poise of his strung-up figure impressed themselves indelibly on her
memory. Strain was expressed in every line of his body and in his
clutching hands. Then the strength and decision that was in her
asserted itself, and she overcame the numbing horror that had held her
power