Faye found her heart beating wildly as she seized the slender line that spanned the rushing water. Well enough she knew that should this line fail them, a half score of lives must be lost.
“And life,” she told herself as her lips moved in silent prayer, “life is such a precious heritage.”
Slowly, steadily, they began to haul away. Moment by moment the tug on that slender line grew stronger.
Now as the current rising in mad fury redoubled its efforts to defeat them, it seemed that surely the slender line must snap.
“It—it’s like landing a great trout,” the girl told herself.
And now, just as it seemed the line must break, the rush subsided. Hauling away with a will they at last gave forth an exultant shout. Gordon Duncan’s hand gripped the end of the stout rawhide rope that now spanned the flood.
“We have won, child! We have won!” he panted.
But had they? There was much work yet to be done. A stout line now connected them with the imperiled ones. How would these work out their salvation?
Gordon Duncan dragged the line to a stout tree and fastened it securely there. This done, his work for the time was over.
It will not seem strange that his eyes wandered once more to that mysterious cabin that had, beyond doubt, at one time been his home. Hardly had he done this than he leaped to his feet with a wild exclamation on his lips: