d
on his collar was not loosened. Occasionally he heard her gasp and
sputter as a wave washed over her face.

They were swept down. On they went, spinning, snatched from one eddy
to another. The roar of the whirlpool receded, became a low growl and
mutter.

Now they could see the churning surface covered with torn bits of
wreckage. A body, bloated and discolored, spun by, and was caught and
dragged under, leaving only an indescribable stench.

After a while the northern shore, a low, brown bank, crept out toward
them, like a long, merciful arm. In another minute Peter's bare feet
came in contact with slimy, yielding mud. They were in shoal water!

He picked up Miss Vost in his arms, and carried her ashore; and she
clung to him, shivering and moaning. He did not realize until
afterward that she was kissing him over and over again on his wet lips
and cheeks.

Coolies found them, and carried them to a village, and deposited them
in a little red clay compound behind a building of straw. A bonfire
was kindled. The sun came up, a disk that might have been cut out of
red tissue-paper.

Some time later a tall man came into the clearing with a little group
of coolies who were pointing out the way. A white patriarchal beard
extended nearly to his waist.

He saw Miss Vost and shouted. She leaped up, was enfolded in his arms.

Peter stared at them a moment with a look that was somewhat dazed. He
picked himself up, and skulked out of the compound, in the direction of
the foaming river.

His mind was not in a normal state just then, or he would not have
wanted to cross to Ching-Fu in a sampan. But he did want to cross. In
the back of his brain foolish words were urging him: "You must get to
Ching-Fu. You must go on to Len Yang. Hurry! Hurry!"

He had no money. A box filled with perforated Szechwan coins now lay
at the bottom of the river in what was left of the _Hankow_.
Nevertheless, he hailed a sampan as though his pockets were weighted
down with lumps of purest silver.

The boat leaked in dozens of places. The paddle, scarred and battered,
clung to the stern by means of a rotting leather thong. As Peter
looked and hesitated, a long, imperative cry issued from behind him.
Possibly Miss Vost wanted him to return.

The coolie stipulated his price, and Peter stepped aboard without a
murmur, without looking around, either. The crossing was precarious.
They skirted the edge of more than one whirl;