To spring to the ground, throw off his coat and plunge into the turbulent stream was the work of a moment. The stranger struck out boldly toward the child as it was being carried away by the swift current. Keeping his eye on the tiny bundle, the courageous swimmer with almost superhuman effort made his way toward it, contending manfully with the force of the waters which barred his progress. The few settlers, attracted by the mother's cries, drew near the river and watched with breathless interest the battle for life. It was a terrible struggle, and the cowboys, as they ran along the bank with hair streaming in the wind, their hearts beating in alternate hope and fear, wondered whether the man or the river would gain the victory. Meanwhile the swimmer had reached the middle of the stream, and with a few powerful strokes overtook the precious bundle. Grasping it with a firm hold, he turned to the shore. Anxious, praying hearts awaited him, and willing, but powerless, hands were stretched out to his aid. But the battle was not yet won; the force of the current carried him down, the terror-stricken mother following with her cries. He turned and turned again, at each attempt winning a few yards nearer the shore, but his strength was failing, though he still struggled bravely on. The weight of his now saturated clothes, as well as of the child, was dragging him under. Alas! was he to give his life for nought? Was he to perish and not save the child? Twice he sank, while the cries of the woman rent the air. Then as he arose once more to the surface, she sobbed, "Thank God!" Surely a kind Providence is watching over them and guiding the man among the jutting rocks and crags, saving him from being dashed upon the great boulders scattered along the bed of the river. Again he is nearing the shore, where men are waiting to grasp him. He sinks again. O God! Is it for the last time? No! A shout from the people, then one more brave effort! It is the last. He holds the child in his arms toward them, the men rush into the roaring waters and seize and bear both to the land.
The mother's arms received the babe. It is cold and apparently lifeless, but the women know what to do; they carry it away, apply restoratives, wrap it in warm flannels and rub the little body until the child breathes, smiles and opens its eyes to the mother's anxious gaze.
The cowboys carried the stranger to the miner's shack, and there by rough but kindly methods, and with the determination not to desist while there remained any hope, succeeded, as we have seen, in restoring the brave hero to life.
One of the men recovered the horse left on the other side of the river, and begged its owner to remain among them. He thanked them for their good-will and kindness, but declined, at the same time refusing to take the reward offered him for so risking his life.
As soon as the man was sufficiently recovered he paid a visit to the humble shack of the settler to see the child he had saved. As he took it in his arms it smiled up into his face as though it too would thank him for a rescued life. The father was profuse in his gratitude, and the mother, with tears in her eyes, tried to speak, but her heart was too full for words. The stranger understood the language of her looks, and valued such expression of her feeling better than if it had been couched in the finest words ever spoken. He bade the grateful parents farewell and rode away with a glad heart, saying, "I have only done my duty." There was no one in that settlement so happy as Akspine.
His career had been a chequered one since the days when he had organized and promoted the Workers' Club among his school-fellows. He had added an efficient musical training to his excellent English education. After serving an apprenticeship on one of the English railroads he married and went to India, where he became station-master on one of the lines. Owing to the ill-health of his wife he was obliged to give up that position at the end of two years and return to England. A few months later he followed her remains to the grave, and placing his infant daughter in the care of his wife's mother he emigrated to the New World, hoping in its new and stirring life to find solace for his sorrow, as well as remuneration for his toil. He had gone first to the home of a friend in the western States, where he remained a year. Later we find him the hero of this adventure on the river.
After leaving the settler's shack Akspine journeyed northward toward the international boundary line. On the way he encountered a camp of Indians, and being wearied with travel he stayed to rest, intending to remain with them only a few days.
The Indians' lodges were pitched in a beautifully wooded valley. They had plenty of horses and abundance of buffalo meat, and the weather being cold he concluded to prolong his stay among them. He employed his time teaching the Indians many useful things, and before he left the camp at the end of three months he had made many friends. He left many specimens of his handiwork as memorials of his stay with the natives of the Montana plains. Oftentimes the Indians gathered in the Chief Peta's lodge, where Akspine was a guest, to watch his busy fingers carve dogs, horses, buffalo and moose from blocks of wood with his knife.
One of the young men of the camp who watched the white man most closely was Yellow Snake. He was deeply interested in the work, asked that he might learn the art, and proved an apt pupil. He went out from the lodge and returned in a few days, bringing an exact and perfect imitation of the work done by Akspine. Between these two young men, though representatives of different races, there sprang up a deep attachment, and they became close companions. It was during his stay with these people that Akspine received his Indian name, and this brought him into still closer relationship with the Indians.
There were sad hearts in the camp when at the end of three months Akspine suddenly determined to leave it and ride farther north. They had learned to love him dearly, and had hoped to keep him always with them; but Akspine could not stay, and one fine morning he rode away into the enemy's country. Scanning the horizon on all sides, and keeping a sharp lookout for any sign of hostile Indians, he had ridden five days' journey without encountering a foe or meeting with any adventure. He had slept on the prairie, picketing his horse near, and using his saddle for a pillow. At the end of the fifth day he drew near a wood which skirted one of the rivers of the plains. Though appearances indicated that he was not far from a white settlement, he yet had to be as careful as though he were still out on the lonely prairie. He first cared for and secured his horse, and then, after eating his supper of pemmican, lay down to rest at the foot of a sheltering tree, placing his gun and revolver close at hand, for to lose either of them would be death; and he could not be sure that a sudden emergency might not arise when he should need them for self-defence. The night was calm and clear, and with his thoughts dwelling on the past and the home in the old land, Akspine fell asleep. He was not far from the settlement of Mackleton, on the banks of the Marion River, but was still within reach of any hostile Indians who might have an antipathy to the whites.