It must be a tame bear, rejoined Drake. See it lick the woman’s hand.
Stop! said Tom, I see two women there, a big and little one, and the little one lays across the big one. There is something else there—a cat or rabbit; yes, and the bear is a dog.
These, said Drake, are some of the up-the-river-folks, that have been washed away, and got on the raft for safety. I guess they are all dead but the dog. But we must try and save them. If there is any life in them, it will be drowned out in going through the rift below the Island.
Then they sprang down the rocks like two antelopes. Reaching the river, Tom was about to plunge in.
Stop! cried his companion. Nothing but a duck or its mate can live in that water; I am the mate of the duck; I am the Drake that will venture!
And suiting the action to the word, plunged in. For a moment he disappeared in the surging foam, and then rose to the surface. The river was so thick with drift-wood that it was with difficulty he could stem the current.
At last he reaches the raft.
The cat mews—the dog whines, but the women remain as silent as the grave.
By superhuman efforts, Drake lands the raft at the head of the Island, at the mouth of the Shinglekill. Tom had run along the bank, swam the Bennykill, and was at Drake’s side when the raft landed.