small 'coon which
stared at the boy piteously, its eyes green in the light._]

But he could not rescue the wildcat which swept by spitting at the water
from a log, nor the shivering doe which awaited the coming of death,
marooned on an islet which was fast being cut away by the hungry waters.
And all the time the stinging rain fed the flood.

Val gripped the rudder until the bar was printed deep across his palm.
Soon it would be too late. He must cross now, heading diagonally
downstream to escape the full fury of the current. With a deep breath he
turned out into the bayou.

It was like fighting some vast animated feather-bed. His greatest
efforts were as nothing against the overpowering sweep seaward. And
there was constant danger from the floating booty of the storm. The
muddy spray lashed his body, filling the bottom of his craft as if it
were a tea-cup. And once the boat was whirled almost around.

Val was beginning to wonder just how long a swimmer might last in that
black fog of rain, wind, and water when his bow eased into comparatively
quiet water. He had crossed the main current; now was the time to head
upstream. Grimly he did, to begin a struggle which was to take on all
the more horrible properties of a nightmare. For this was many times
worse than his fight against the swamp-stream.

Twice the engine sputtered protestingly and Val thought of trying to
leap ashore. But stubbornly the outboard fought on. If there ever were a
sturdy ship, fit to be named with Columbus' gallant craft or Hudson's
vessel, it was that frail outboard which buffeted the rising waters of a
Louisiana bayou gone flood mad.

It achieved the impossible; it crept upstream inch by inch, escaping
disaster after disaster by the thinness of a dime. Since he had
apparently not been born to drown, Val thought as he saw his headlight
touch the tip of the landing, he would doubtless depart this life by
hanging.

Then his light picked out something else which lay between him and the
landing. The sleek, knife-bowed cruiser certainly did not belong to
Pirate's Haven. And what neighbor would come calling by water on such a
night? It was moored by two thick ropes to a sunken post, and already
the mooring was dragging the bow down. Val headed in toward it, running
the outboard between the stranger and the landing.

Out of the blackness ashore a shadow arose and waved at him frenziedly.
Then he saw Ricky's white face above her long oil-silk cap