ic rebellion against fate--the
same futile passion which causes a convict to wrench madly at the bars
of his cell. The glimpse of that illuminated stretch of road across the
flooded stream drove him to distraction. Baffled, powerless, his wonted
stolidness left him, and he cast his eyes here and there with a sort of
challenge born of despair and desperation.

Slowly, gently, the hazy dawn stole over the sky and the roof of dried
and ragged shingles seemed as if it were covered with gray dust.
Presently the light would flicker upon those black, mad waters and laugh
at Tom from the other side.

And meanwhile the minutes passed.

He believed that he could swim the torrent and make a landing even
though the rush of water carried him somewhat downstream. But what about
_Uncle Sam_? He turned off the searchlight and still _Uncle Sam_ was
clearly visible now, standing, waiting. He could count the spokes in the
wheels.

The spokes in the wheels--_the spokes_. With a sudden inspiration born
of despair, Tom looked at that low, shingled roof. He could see it
fairly well now. The gray dawn had almost caught up with him.

And meanwhile the minutes passed!

In a frantic burst of energy he took a running jump, caught the edge of
the roof and swung himself upon it. In the thin haze his form was
outlined there, his shock of light hair jerking this way and that, as
he tore off one shingle after another, and threw them to the ground. He
was racing now, as he had not raced before, and there was upon his
square, homely face that look of uncompromising resolution which the
soldier wears as he goes over the top with his bayonet fixed.

Leaping to the ground again he gathered up some half a dozen shingles,
selecting them with as much care as his desperate haste would permit.
Then he hurriedly opened the leather tool case on his machine and
tumbled the contents about until he found the roll of insulated wire
which he always carried.

His next work was to split one of the shingles over his knee so that he
had a strip of wood about two inches wide. It took him but so many
seconds to jab four or five holes through this, and adjusting it between
two slopes of the power wheel so that it stood crossways and was
re-enforced by the spokes themselves, he proceeded to bind it in place
with the wire. Then he moved the wheel gently around, and found that the
projecting edge of wooden strip knocked against the mud-guard.
Hesitating not a second he