Looking across the stream I could see the lights of the River Belle swing gradually into a longer line, and presently heard the clanging of her bells as she came to a full stop, apparently tied up along shore.  From that direction the current seemed to come toward us with a long slant, so that as we dropped down stream, we also edged away.

We had traveled perhaps three quarters of a mile, when I noticed the dim loom of trees on our side of the stream, and saw that we were approaching a long point which ran out below us.  This should have been the deep side of the river, but no one can account for the vagaries of the Missouri.  When we were within a hundred yards or so of the point, we felt a long shuddering scrape under us, and after a series of slips and jerks, our old snag came to anchor again, its roots having once more laid hold upon a bar.  The sand-wash seemed to have been deflected by the projecting mass of a heap of driftwood which I now saw opposite to us, its long white arms reaching out toward those of our floating craft.  Once more the hissing of the water began among the buried limbs, and once more the snag rolled ominously, and then lay still, its giant, naked trunk, white and half submerged, reaching up stream fifty feet above us.  We were apparently as far from safety as ever, although almost within touch of shore.

It occurred to me that as I had been able to touch bottom on the other bar, I might do so here.  I crawled back along the trunk of the snag to a place as near the roots as I could reach, and letting myself down gently, found that I could keep my footing on the sand.

“Look out there! boy,” cried Auberry to me.  “This river’s dangerous.  If it takes you down, swim for the shore.  Don’t try to get back here.”  We could see that the set of the current below ran close inshore, although doubtless the water there was very deep.

Little by little I edged up the stream, and found presently that the water shoaled toward the heap of driftwood.  It dropped off, I know not how deep, between the edge of the bar and the piled drift; but standing no more than waist deep; I could reach the outer limbs of the drift and saw that they would support my weight.  After that I waded back to the snag carefully, and once more ordered the young woman to come to me.

She came back along the naked and slippery trunk of the snag, pulling herself along by her hands, her bare feet and limbs deep in the water alongside.  I could hear the sob of her intaken breath, and saw that she trembled in fright.

“Come,” I said, as she finally reached the mass of the roots.  And more dead than alive, it seemed to me, she fell once more into my arms.  I felt her grasp tighten about my neck, and her firm body crowd against me as we both sank down for an instant.  Then I caught my feet and straightened, and was really the steadier for the added weight, as any one knows who has waded in fast water.  Little by little I edged up on the bar, quite conscious of her very gracious weight, but sure we should thus reach safety.