“Take off your shoes, George,” cried Watson. “Your coat and vest, too.”
Both the fugitives divested themselves of boots, coats and vests; their hats they had already lost in their flight from “The General.” In their trousers pockets they stuffed their watches and some Confederate money.
A sudden thought crossed George’s mind. It was a painful thought.
“What’s to become of Waggie?” he asked. “I can’t leave him here.” He would as soon have left a dear relative stranded on the bank of the river.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave him,” said Watson.
“I can’t,” replied George. There was a second’s pause—but it seemed like the suspense of an hour. Then the lad had a lucky inspiration. He leaned down and drew from a side pocket of his discarded coat a roll of strong cord which had been used when he climbed the telegraph poles. Pulling a knife from a pocket in his trousers he cut a piece of the cord about two yards in length, tied one end around his waist and attached the other end to Waggie’s collar. The next instant he had plunged into the icy water, dragging the dog in after him. Watson followed, and struck out into the torrent with the vigor of an athlete.
George found at once that his work meant something more than keeping himself afloat. The current was rapid, and it required all his power to keep from being carried down the river like a helpless log. Waggie was sputtering and pawing the water in his master’s wake.
“Keep going,” shouted Watson. “This current’s no joke!” Even he was having no child’s play.
Just then George had his mouth full of water; he could only go on battling manfully. But he began to feel a great weakness. Was he about to faint again? He dared not think of it. There was a loosening of the cord around his waist. He looked to his left and there was Waggie floating down the stream like a tiny piece of wood. His head had slipped from his collar.
Watson tried to grab the dog as he floated by, but it was too late. He might as well have tried to change the tide.