deer, a breed known to him of old. Little Death the mink had done the same thing, the night he had been so hungry and in which the miniature slayer had slipped between his talons. The river was always a place of refuge for those that were afraid. Thus it was plain that if the dog and the man feared him there was no further cause for him to be afraid of them. He crept out boldly, a magnificent, tawny figure in the dim light, on to the log that led down into the water. His eyes shone with blue fire.
Perhaps the dog saw him first. He swam with wide-open eyes. He had jumped in almost opposite the little pile of driftwood where the lamb lay and was immediately swept downstream. Hugh, however, had leaped in farther up, and he had had a chance to work into the middle of the current as he was carried down.
He had always been a strong swimmer, and he needed that strength now. The water was icy cold; it gripped him with resistless strength. He fought it with powerful strokes, but it seemed to him that he was tossed about like a straw. Even he headed upstream and out, not hoping to make headway but only to offset, in some degree, the incredible power of the current. He had never done such swimming as this before. Silver Creek was not at all like the swimming tank in his athletic club. He gave his whole strength; and it seemed to him that he was fighting for his life.
