Then he leaped. As he had calculated, the stream threw him promptly
against the bank below. There his legs were immediately sucked beneath
the overhanging rock that had convinced Saleratus Bill of his captive's
fate. It seemed likely now to justify that conviction. Bob clung
desperately, until his muscles cracked, but was unable so far to draw
his legs from underneath the rock as to gain a chance to struggle out
of water. Indeed, he might very well have hung in that equilibrium of
forces until tired out, had not a slender, water-washed alder root
offered itself to his grasp. This frail shrub, but lightly rooted,
nevertheless afforded him just the extra support he required. Though he
expected every instant that the additional ounces of weight he from
moment to moment applied to it would tear it away, it held. Inch by inch
he drew himself from the clutch of the rushing water, until at length he
succeeded in getting the broad of his chest against the bank. A few
vigorous kicks then extricated him.
For a moment or so he lay stretched out panting, and considering what
next was to be done. There was a chance, of course--and, in view of
Saleratus Bill's shrewdness, a very strong chance--that the gun-man
would add to his precautions a wait and a watch at the entrance to the
cove.
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