As for Barry, the waters caught him and sent him spinning over and over,
like a log, whipping down stream, while the heavier body of Satan was
struggling whole yards above. There was no chance for the master to reach
the sand-bank, and even if he reached it he could not cling; but the
wolf-dog knew many things about water. In the times of famine long years
before the days of the master there had been ways of catching fish.
He edged forward until the water foamed about his shoulders. Down came Dan,
his arms tumbling as he whirled, and on the sleeve of one of those arms the
teeth of Bart closed. The cloth was stout, and yet it ripped as if it were
rotten veiling, and the tug nearly swept Bart from his place. Still, he
clung; his teeth shifted their hold with the speed of light and closed over
the arm of the master itself, slipped, sank deeper, drew blood, and held.
Barry swung around and a moment later stood with his feet buried firmly in
the bank.
He had not a moment to spare, for Satan, only his eyes and his nose
showing, rushed down the current, making his last fight.
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