“Around the blazing fire a little later Arty was himself again. The men sang songs for him, and told him stories, and blew little clouds of bitter smoke from their pipes into the brown thicket of his curls. He sat now on one rough fellow’s knee, now on another’s, and absorbed all the attention of the camp, and was allowed by the cook to eat all the gingerbread he wanted. When he got sleepy he was put into his father’s bunk; and, since he was determined to have it so, Mart was allowed to sleep beside him. Arty having gone to bed, there was nothing for his admirers to do but follow his example. Their hearts filled with tender memories and generous thoughts, stirred up by the presence of the child among them, the backwoodsmen turned into their bunks, and soon were fast asleep.
“That night the floods came. The torrents rushing down every hillside speedily burst the already rotten ice. Some miles above the camp a jam formed itself early in the evening,—a mixed mass of ice-cakes, logs, and rubbish; and this kept the water below from rising rapidly enough to warn the camp of its danger. Just as the gray of dawn was beginning to struggle dimly through the forest aisles, the jam broke, and the mighty avalanche of ice and water swept down on the slumbering camp.
“There was no warning. Men perished in their sleep, crushed or drowned, without knowing what had happened. The camp was simply wiped out of existence.
“The bunk in which Arty lay asleep with his young protector was not built into the wall like the other bunks. It was a separate structure, and stood across the end of the building close by the fireplace. When the flood struck the camp, the stout building went down like a house of cards.
“With a choking cry of terror Arty awoke to find himself drifting in a tumult of icy waters. Great dark waves kept whirling, eddying, and crashing about him. An arm was around him, holding him firmly, and he realized that Mart was taking care of him. Presently a fragment of wreck plunged against them and he heard Mart groan; but the young man caught the timbers, and bade Arty lay hold of them. The child bravely did as he was told, and climbed actively upon the floating mass. Hardly had he done so when Mart disappeared under the dark surface.
“A shrill cry broke from Arty’s lips at the sight, but in a moment the young man reappeared. He was close against the timbers—dashing against them, in fact; but Arty saw that he was unable to hold on to them. Throwing himself flat on his face, the plucky little fellow caught hold of his friend’s sleeve, and clung to it with all his tiny strength. Tiny as it was, it was enough for the purpose, however, and Mart’s head was kept above water; but his eyes were closed, and he did not notice the child’s voice begging him to climb up onto the wreck.
“The waters subsided almost as rapidly as they had risen, though the stream remained a torrent, raging far above its wonted bounds. In a few minutes the timbers on which Arty had his refuge were swung by an eddy into shallow water. They caught against a tree, and then grounded at one end.
“Arty began crawling toward shore, dragging Mart’s body through the water without great difficulty. But when he got into the shallow part it was another matter; he could not haul Mart’s weight any farther. Resting the young man’s head on the edge of the timbers, he paused to take breath, and looked about him in despair. Now he began to cry again; he had been too busy for lamentations while trying to save Mart.
“Presently he heard some one approaching, attracted by the sound of his voice. Looking up eagerly, he saw it was old Jerry, picking his way through the shallow water. He called him by name, and the horse neighed joyfully in answer. The animal was sadly bedraggled in appearance, but evidently unhurt. He had swum ashore lower down the river, and was making his way back to where he expected to find the camp. Now, however, he came to Arty, sniffed him over, and rubbed him with his soft, wet nose.
“‘Jerry’ll help me pull Mart out,’ said the child aloud, half to himself, half to the horse; and laying hold of the young man’s sleeve, he again began bravely tugging upon it. ‘Pull too, Jerry,’ urged the little fellow, while the animal stood wondering what it was he was required to do. In a moment, however, he understood; and seizing the young man by the collar of his shirt, he speedily dragged him to land without much help from Arty. The affectionate creature recognized his driver, and stood over him with drooping head, bewildered at his helplessness and silence. Mart opened his eyes, and groaned slightly once or twice, but immediately relapsed into unconsciousness. Arty sat down by his side, his little heart overflowing with grief and fear. He kept crying for his father and his grandmother, and for Mart to open his eyes. Jerry completed the sad group, standing over it as if on guard, and ever and anon lifting his head to send forth a shrill whinny of appeal. This was the position in which, a half-hour later, guided by Jerry’s signals, Steve Doyle and his party found them.