Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

The very velocity of the sorely-pressed stream was in favor of the lads, as it carried them speedily into water heavy enough to afford a swimmer support; but, before this was done, and when the brave rescuer felt that he could hold out no longer, he brought himself and his burden to the top of the water.

Even in this critical, this fearful moment, when it seemed that his own body would burst with agony, Little Rifle made certain that his companion was given the same blessed privilege before he availed himself of it. He saw him start and gasp, he felt the arm which was in his grasp feebly start or struggle, and then, with the lungs of both filled with the delicious life-giving air, they went down again.

In that momentary sight that Little Rifle had gained of the face of the boy, during the single instant that it remained above the water, he caught sight of a red spot of blood upon the forehead, which showed that he was hurt and bleeding very fast, else the crimson current could not have shown itself so quickly.

In a shorter period than before, the two came to the top of the water again, and Little Rifle, with a thrill of hope, found that they were beyond the light, fleecy foam, and were speeding downward through water in which he was able to support both himself and his charge.

The skill of the young trapper was as great in the handling of himself while in the water as it was in hunting or trailing through the woods, and now his confidence came back to him, when he felt certain that he could accomplish something by that same skill and strength.

Still retaining his hold upon the arm of the boy, he managed to bring his head above the surface once more, while with the other arm he impelled both through the water, toward the bank, from which he had made his leap.

The current was still so swift that he could hardly hope to effect a landing until they should reach a point further down, but it was prudent to put himself in a position where he could avail himself of the first turn in his favor.

Looking again at the countenance by his shoulder, he saw that the eyes were closed, and there was blood flowing over his face.

The sight convinced Little Rifle that he must speedily be gotten out of the water, if he expected to preserve his life at all, and he now bent all his efforts toward reaching the shore with him.

A few vigorous strokes brought him within a dozen feet of land, but the bank was so rocky and precipitous that it was idle to attempt to come out, and he drifted, unresisting, still further.