The men were for letting the little beast go, but Trim thought differently.
“Each donkey,” he said, “is of as much use as a man, and that one must be saved.”
He accordingly steered his raft to shore and ordered the second one to halt just below the rapids where the water ran smoothly. Then he waded into the middle of the stream and waited for the donkey to come down to him.
The frightened beast was struggling with the current trying desperately to make for the shore, but being carried along by the force of the water in spite of all he could do.
“If the little rascal could get his feet on the ground,” thought Trim, “he’d get out.”
The donkey didn’t succeed in getting a foothold, and before long he came tumbling along to where Trim stood waist deep waiting for him.
Trim caught the donkey around the neck and tried to drag him toward his own raft near the shore.
The donkey evidently did not understand Trim’s plan, and more than that he had a mind of his own, such as it was.
He brayed and bellowed while he kicked and struggled to get loose from Trim’s clutch. The lad held on like death.