From the spot where the raft started, the eddy swept him directly across the stream in the direction of a serrated ledge, which threatened instant destruction. Seated on the narrow craft, grasping it with both hands and ever looking toward the other shore, the unfortunate man set up a cry for help, which pierced brave old Ben to the very heart. He began to throw off his hunting-shirt. Just as he stood, half naked, on the bank, the raft struck the ledge against which it was drifting. Such was the momentum which it had acquired, that it sent Jan flying from the logs, striking the water many feet away.
“Alas, alas!” cried Millicent, “he is gone!”
“Not yit,” said Ben; “I’m hyar.”
The current swept Jan further down, and he struck the rocks again; but this time he grasped a jutting ledge, found a place for his feet, and shouted for help at the top of his voice.
“I’m comin’, ole chap,” responded Ben in return. “Look out! Foller me, Jule.”
He plunged into the stream, while Jules remained standing on the bank. The trapper sunk from view in a moment. Taking advantage of the undertow, he swam toward the other shore. He had learned from the Indians the trick of swimming under water, and did it well. For a few moments nothing was heard but the splash of the water and the shouts of poor Jan, who imagined himself forsaken in the bleak world. All at once he beheld the water separate close by his side, and from the swift current Ben Miffin sprung into view, dashing the water from his eyes with one hand as he laid the other on the rocks to keep himself from floating downward.
“How ar’ ye?” he said, coolly. “Rayther a cold berth, this.”
“Ve never gets out of dis no more, Penn,” said Jan, despairingly. “I pees very mooch ’vraid ve gone dis dimes. Vy den you pring me to dis miser’ble coonthry?”
“It’s good enough fer the natyves,” said Ben. “Shet up yer meat-trap. Let me do the talkin’; I’ll hev enough of it, I reckon.”
“Dalking’s no use,” replied the poor fellow. “Vat I vants ish to pe sure I can get out from dis. An’ dis ish vat I dinks: ve vill never get out from dis no more vile ve lifs, so help me ash I pelieve dis ish drue. Dere ish no more hope vor poor Jan Schneider. He ish deat unt drownded mit vasser. Ach! Mein Gott! Phew!”