The torrent was full of drift, and Nick, half strangled and dizzy, felt that his chief danger lay in being struck by some of the logs that were spinning along with him on the surface of the water.
But this fact, so far from being a danger, proved his salvation.
An uprooted tree came sweeping toward him, and he was caught in the spreading branches.
Tangled among the limbs, as he ultimately became, it was impossible for him to sink, and for a short distance he rode along with his head out of the torrent.
Presently the tree lodged in a jam of driftwood, and Nick watched the whirling débris shoot against the jam and pass on, missing his head sometimes by no more than an inch.
“Help!” he called again, “This way, Chick! Patsy! Help!”
He did not call in vain, for Chick and Patsy suddenly appeared on the bank, the former with a coil of rope in his hands.
“We’ll have you in a minute, old man!” cried Chick, cheerily. “I’ll throw the rope and you can catch it.”
“No, I can’t,” answered Nick. “My hands are tied.”
“Here,” said Patsy, grabbing one end of the rope and tying it about his waist. “I can go out on that tree and fish Nick out of the branches. I’m a regular cat when it comes to walking a log.”