"Bart!" shouted the master, and waved his arm.
And the wolf saw too. He seemed to cringe for a moment, and then, like some
old leader of a pack who knows he is about to die and defies his death, he
darted for the river and flung himself through the air.
An instant later Satan reared on the bank and shot into the air. Below him
the teeth of the rocks seemed to lift up in hunger, and the white foam
jumped to take him. The crest of the arc of his jump was passed; he shot
lower and grazing the last of the stones he plunged out of sight in the
swift water beyond. There were two falls, not one, for even while the black
was in the air Barry slipped from his back and struck the water clear of
Satan.
They came up again struggling in the last effort toward the shore. The
impetus of their leap had washed them well in toward the bank, but the
currents dragged them out again toward the center of the stream where the
rocks waited. Down river they went, and Black Bart alone had a ghost of a
chance for success. His leap had been farther and he skimmed the surface
when he struck so that by dint of fierce swimming he hugged close to the
shore, and then his claws bedded in the sand-bank.
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