racing toward it. He climbed out on it, leaned far over, and reached down.
His hand touched the water. In the grim excitement of rescue he forgot his
own peril. There was one chance in twenty that the colt would come within
his reach, and it did. He made a single lunge and caught it by the ear. For
a moment after that his heart turned sick. Under the added strain the dead
spruce sagged down with a warning crack. But it held, and Aldous hung to
his grip on the ear. Foot by foot he wormed his way back, until at last he
had dragged the little animal ashore.

And then a voice spoke behind him, a voice that he would have recognized
among ten thousand, low, sweet, thrilling.

"That was splendid, John Aldous!" it said. "If I were a man I would want to
be a man like you!"

He turned. A few steps from him stood Joanne Gray. Her face was as white as
the bit of lace at her throat. Her lips were colourless, and her bosom rose
and fell swiftly. He knew that she, too, had witnessed the tragedy. And the
eyes that looked at him were glorious.




CHAPTER IV


To John Aldous Joanne's appearance at this moment was like an anti-climax.
It plunged him headlong for a single moment into what he believed to be the
absurdity of a situation. He had a quick mental picture of himself out on
the dead spruce, performing a bit of mock-heroism by dragging in a