Then the dragging for Katy was resumed; but as there was much more doubt in regard to the place where she went down than there was about the place of the accident, the search was more difficult and protracted.  George Gray never left Albert for a moment.  George wanted to take the drag-rope himself, but a feeling that he was eccentric, if not insane, kept those in charge of the boat from giving it to him.

When Sunday morning came, Katy’s body had not yet been found, and the whole village flocked to the lake shore.  These were the first deaths in Metropolisville, and the catastrophe was so sudden and tragic that it stirred the entire village in an extraordinary manner.  All through that cloudy Sunday forenoon, in a weary waiting, Charlton sat on the bank of Diamond Lake.

“Mr. Charlton,” said Gray, “git me into that air boat and I’ll git done with this.  I’ve watched them fellers go round the place tell I can’t stan’ it no longer.”

The next time the boat faced toward the place where Charlton stood he beckoned to them, and the boat came to the shore.

“Let Mr. Gray row a few times, won’t you?” whispered Albert.  “I think he knows the place.”

With that deference always paid to a man in grief, the man who had the oars surrendered them to the Hoosier Poet, who rowed gently and carefully toward the place where he and Albert had dived for Katy the night before.  The quick instinct of the trapper stood him in good stead now.  The perception and memory of locality and direction are developed to a degree that seems all but supernatural in a man who lives a trapper’s life.

“Now, watch out!” said Gray to the man with the rope, as they passed what he thought to be the place.  But the drag did not touch anything.  Gray then went round and pulled at right angles across his former course, saying again, “Now, watch out!” as they passed the same spot.  The man who held the rope advised him to turn a little to the right, but Gray stuck to his own infallible instinct, and crossed and re-crossed the same point six times without success.

“You see,” he remarked, “you kin come awful closte to a thing in the water and not tech it.  We ha’n’t missed six foot nary time we passed thar.  It may take right smart rowin’ to do it yet.  But when you miss a mark a-tryin’ at it, you don’t gain nothin’ by shootin’ wild.  Now, watch out!”

And just at that moment the drag caught but did not hold.  Gray noticed it, but neither man said a word.  The Inhabitant turned the boat round and pulled slowly back over the same place.  The drag caught, and Gray lifted his oars.  The man with the rope, who had suddenly got a great reverence for Gray’s skill, willingly allowed him to draw in the line.  The Poet did so cautiously and tremblingly.  When the body came above the water, he had all he could do to keep from fainting.  He gently took hold of the arms and said to his companion, “Pull away now.”  And with his own wild, longing, desolate heart full of grief, Gray held to the little form and drew her through the water.  Despite his grief, the Poet was glad to be the one who should bring her ashore.  He held her now, if only her dead body, and his unselfish love found a melancholy recompense.  Albert would have chosen him of all men for the office.