He shouted wildly, but his feeble voice would not penetrate to them as they stood amidst the racing water, and in his agony Max was in the act of starting to run again, when he saw Scoodrach throw up his hands, and directly after Tavish seemed to make a bound into the foam, where he fell and disappeared.
Max’s mouth felt dry at this fresh misfortune, and he stood as if turned to stone, waiting to see the gillie reappear, which he did, but not where Max expected by fifty yards farther down the stream, where Long Shon stood, and, as the latter held on with one hand, he could be seen to stoop and catch at something in the water.
Max could hardly believe what he saw, as Tavish rose up high above Long Shon, when the pair slowly climbed out, the great forester with something beneath one arm.
The frozen feeling of helplessness passed off, and Max ran on down the rough slope, nearly falling again and again in his eagerness to reach the spot where from time to time he could see the group, on a green bed of moss beneath some pendulous birches; and when at last he reached them, it was to find Kenneth lying upon his back, with his head and shoulders supported against Tavish as he knelt there; Scoodrach stooping and holding his hand; and Long Shon busily binding up a cut upon the lad’s head, the blood from which had trickled down over one cheek.
“Is—is he dead?” cried Max hoarsely.
There was no reply, and Max felt his heart seem to contract as he stood in the pool of water which had streamed down from the group.
“Na, na,” said Tavish, suddenly thrusting away Long Shon’s hand. “She’d petter let her pleed.”
Long Shon looked at him wonderingly, but gave way.
“Maybe she shall. Puir laddie, ye canna dee like that.”
But for a time it seemed as if poor Kenneth’s race was run, so still and white he looked.