"Hardly in your clothes; but I am glad to know it, nevertheless. You
could keep afloat at least, and the holes are never very large. Are
you ready now?"

She gave him her hands and stood up. The Sergeant drew in a long
breath and transferred the haversack to her shoulder.

"We 'll try and keep that from getting soaked, if we can," he
explained. "There is no hotel over in those sand-hills. Now hold on
tight."

He swung her easily to his broad shoulder, clasping her slender figure
closely with one arm.

"That's it! Now get a firm grip. I 'll carry you all right."

To the girl, that passage was never more than a dim memory. Still
partially dazed from the severe blow on her head, she closed her eyes
as Hamlin stepped cautiously down into the stream and clung to him
desperately, expecting each moment to be flung forward into the water.
But the Sergeant's mind was upon his work, and every detail of the
struggle left its impress on his memory. He saw the dark sweep of the
water, barely visible in the gleam of those few stars unobscured by
cloud, and felt the sluggish flow against his legs as he moved. The
bottom was soft, yet his feet did not sink deeply, although it was
rather difficult wading. However, the clay gave him more confidence
than sand underfoot, and there was less depth of water even than he had
anticipated. He was wet only to the thighs when he toiled up on to the
low spit of sand, and put the girl down a moment to catch a fresh
breath and examine the broader stretch of water ahead. They could see