tried and tore up three pages. Because it makes me all excited myself, as you might say. I can hear that crowd on the porch shoutng just as plain as on that very day it happened. And every time it rains and it's dark and windy, it reminds me of it too. The next thing I knew we were right close beside two fellows and Westy was holding them and shouting, "Let go, I've got him!"
The fellow who wouldn't let go was Skinny.
I can't tell you about how he looked—honest, I just can't tell you. But there was blood on his face just the same as I saw in the dream—as sure as I'm sitting here, there was. He had hold of the camping fellow's mackinaw jacket with his teeth and the fellow's mouth was stretched wide open and Skinny's hand was clutching his teeth and chin and holding his head above water that way. It wasn't like any rule for holding a drowning fellow, anyway, no rule I ever heard of. Even now I can see that skinny little white hand straining to hold that mouth and chin, and afterward I saw how there was a cut across Skinny's fingers where the fellow's teeth had pressed. Skinny's arm was shaking just like a rope shakes when it's pulled too tight and his eyes were staring and crazy.
