This time he caught hold, and he howled:
“I vill gif somepody a sellever tollar to bull der varter out uf me perfore I drowndt id! No rifer trifer vos efer cut oudt vor me! Hel-lup! Come kvick und—— Ow—ugh—gug—guggle—gug!”
Again his hold slipped from the log, and he took in enough water to make him think the river must have lowered at least a foot. He made another frantic scramble to get out, caught hold of the log, and tried to climb upon it. Every time he attempted to get upon the log it rolled over and soused him under again.
“Vot vos der madder mit dot logs?” he spluttered. “Efry dime id tries to got onto me I act so pad id—— Uggle—guggle—gug—guggle! Shimminy Gristmas! I von’t van a trink of vater again a year vor! I must haf more as sefendeen hundret hogsheadts der inside uf me on alretty!”
Once he succeeded in getting upon the log, but it rolled over immediately, pitching him off on the other side. When he grabbed it again, he spurted water like a whale coming up to spout.
“Dalk apoudt your pucking bronchos!” he gasped. “Vale, they nefer peen in id a minute mit a log. I hat sooner ride der pest proncho Puffalo Peel’s Vild Vest shows in than tried to ride dhis log. Uf I don’t keep sdill, I vill drowndt dot log pefore long. Oxcuse me uf I don’d viggle so much.”
Then another log, carried by an eddy of the current, swung round and butted Hans from his hold once more.
When he came up this time he was growing weak, and he found it difficult to reach the log.
“Id pegins to look britty pad vor Hans,” he muttered. “Uf somepody don’d hurry up you vos a goner.”
Then the three boys came round the rear end of the raft, and Merriwell shouted for him to hold fast.